


The Tower

by LittleMissSyreid



Series: The Tower [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fairy Tale Curses, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Loki Needs a Hug, M/M, Mild Smut, My First Smut, Rapunzel Elements, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Sub Loki (Marvel), Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2018-10-18 15:33:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 57
Words: 138,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10619874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMissSyreid/pseuds/LittleMissSyreid
Summary: After attempting to rule another realm, nobody in the courts of Asgard was opposed to Loki's conviction. However, years later, in a turn of events that nobody is privy to, Odin wonders whether his youngest son was sentenced too harshly. Unbeknownst to anyone, Loki is moved to a new type of cell, with new terms of imprisonment too, in the hopes he will have a chance for redemption. However, as days become months and months become years, the world moves on without him in it. Will Loki really benefit as intended or has he simply been condemned to a new type of torture? The arrival of a stranger puts everything to the test...Despite being overlooked in your hometown on a daily basis, your spirit is not easily broken - not, until one day when an incident on the road out of town leaves you broken and bruised. With nowhere else to turn, you find yourself at the doorstep of a man with no interest in saving anyone but himself...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Judging Books By Covers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4262811) by [wolfpawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfpawn/pseuds/wolfpawn). 



> Loki/Reader fanfiction, loosely based around the Rapunzel fairy tale. I once read a Loki/Reader fanfiction based on Beauty and the Beast and it still is - even today - one of my favourite fanfictions. I'm doing a similar thing and basing my work on a fairytale, and I'm incorporating a similar relationship dynamic as seen in Beauty and the Beast. Overall it's a big fairytale mashup with everyone's favourite little shit as the damsel in distress. I really hope you guys enjoy it! Please leave feedback. I appreciate any and all comments.

Once upon a time, in a long-forgotten part of a long-forgotten forest, a swaying stretch of grass – once untarnished and lush – had been corrupted by a great, gleaming monument. Where once the soil was warmed by the sun, ice as cold as the night lay in the cracks of the wounded earth, stretching up to the sky and culminating in a pointed tip.

At the centre of this secluded glade sat a tall and ominous tower…

 

Odin’s throne room was the crown jewel of Asgard’s palace. Everything from the walls to the furniture seemed to gleam with gold and sing in the sunlight. It was magnificent.

Even the Allfather himself looked as though he deserved to be artwork on the wall. His posture denoted nobility, and his apparel was dripping of wealth. Yet Odin was pensive. Concerned.  
“I daren’t make a deal with a devil. If you think you can help my son, I must know it.”

The woman at the other end of the hall could not have stood out more. Though her glamorous golden hair was in keeping with the rich theme of the room, her haggard face and worn clothing left much to be desired by way of her apparel. Though her smile was sweet, a twinkle in her eye made the boldest of men feel wary. That included the King of Asgard.  
“Your highness,” she purred with a voice that was younger than her line-ridden face, “tell me again what you wish me to achieve and I shall assure you of what I am able.”

Odin adjusted his sitting position. Frigga would know how to handle this woman, but he knew in his heart that he just couldn’t tell her. Odin’s intentions for their son were of good nature but they were drastic and impulsive. She wouldn’t approve – despite his being sure that it was the best thing for him.

As for Thor, the boy was still young in his father’s eyes. There was no way he would understand why he had to do this.

“It’s my boy,” Odin began.  
“The eldest?”  
“No. My youngest.”  
“Ah yes, your son who is not.”  
“He _is_ my son so long as I have raised.”

“What of the boy, my lord?” The woman asked, artfully dodging the Allfather’s temper.  
“He has disgraced his name, and mine, by the attempted subjugation of another realm. Midgard. It was the intervention of my eldest – and some native accomplices – that led to his capture.”  
“If Laufeyson has been thwarted, what should you want of me?” The witch asked.

Odin sighed and took one last second to think things over. Was this really the right plan? Could this woman be trusted? Closing his eyes, he pictured his son when he was young. The healthy competition he’d promoted between his boys should never have been. Whether it was too late or not was irrelevant; it was time that Odin took some responsibility for his actions. For Loki’s.

“His punishment was suited to the courts. Imprisonment seemed fitting at the time – the wound was fresh and my people wanted justice. They would not listen to a father who wished to help his son; instead they wanted a ruler who held no bias.”  
“You do not approve of your boy’s punishment?” The witch tilted her head and for a moment, in the sun that streamed through the throne room’s window, she looked younger.  
“Oh, I approve of his imprisonment absolutely. What I regret is the sentence’s lack of potential for redemption. He is still my son and should he wish to prove that he has changed, I should like him to have that opportunity.”

The witch chewed a delicate fingernail. She seemed to be pondering something, though Odin could not determine what. Was she thinking about the best course of action? Could she even achieve what he was asking of her? It took all of his strength not to say something impatient. He let her think, and was eventually pleased to see her smile.  
“Thankfully, I think that I am more than capable of assisting in the matter.”  
“I will be grateful for your discretion.”  
“I said that I was capable of assisting. If you should have discretion as well, that shall cost a pretty penny.”

“Tell me what you desire.”  
“I am a vain woman, and my best days are behind me. However, I have read of a flower that can grant youth to anyone in its ownership. It’s located a fair distance from the city and I have not the strength to retrieve it.”  
“It shall be a training exercise for my men. We will have it within one week.”  
“Most gracious, your grace,” the woman smirked. Odin couldn’t help but feel unnerved that her price was seemingly so small. This, however, was a problem for another day.

“Now,” he boomed, feeling suddenly more confident, “to the matter at hand.”  
“Quite,” the witch smiled. “We will begin straight away.”

* * *

 

A rickety wooden carriage tumbled through the undergrowth in a long-forgotten part of a long-forgotten forest. The horses up front were almost ghosts, visible only when sunlight burst through the canopy. A whip cracked in the air and the ghost mares whinnied before picking up the pace.

The golden-haired witch was eager to fulfil her end of the deal. In truth, she was eager for the challenge as it had been too long since she’d served a great purpose such as this. The flower was an added bonus as far as she was concerned. A very large bonus.

She cackled lowly to herself as the horses tugged the carriage into a large glade, where a swaying stretch of grass lay untarnished and lush…

The witch leapt to the ground and headed for the back of the carriage, commanding the doors open with one sweep of her ragged hand. Loki lay unconscious within, looking oddly content for someone who’d been kidnapped from his cell. Clapping her hands, the witch’s magic lifted his sleeping form up and followed her to the centre of the leafy plain.

Once Loki’s body had been placed delicately onto the ground, the witch stepped away and let her eyes slide shut. She inhaled deeply. She held out her palms. She began to speak…

“To the great spirits above, who govern the heavens and bring us dawn,  
To the great demons below who guard our dead and grant us ground on which we walk,  
It is to you whom I speak.  
Let it be, a curse here lay, where a prince doth lie in slumber.  
Ignorant, be he, to his pride and to the wickedness of his ambition.  
Let his new prison be wrought in the icy breath of Hel, reaching up towards the next world. Towards redemption.  
Let his torture be survival.  
Let the walls of his cell sustain him and those he chooses.  
Only compassion can save thee.  
Until such time as he feels regret for his wrongdoings, he will be caged.  
Until such time as he is able to feel true, selfless, and heartfelt love, he will be trapped.  
Let it be so!”

A great thunder ripped across the sky. Loki’s eyes snapped open. He sat up suddenly as the ground around began to crumble and churn. Soil shook and simmered away until he was sat in a large, sun-shaped crater. He made to stand, to fight with this unknown enchantress, when a bolt of lightning struck the ground where he stood.

The flash of light made the sorceress turn away. She felt heat for only a moment, until it was replaced by a great overpowering cold. Looking up at her work, she smiled. Where once the soil was warmed by the sun, an icy tower reached upwards and loomed over her, puncturing the sunny skyline. A gentle mist engulfed the tower, chilling the surrounding area. The witch had no intention of staying.

After packing up her carriage, she rode slowly out of the glade. As Loki began to realise that every door looped back on itself, and that every window was impossible to open, his mind went into a frenzy. The once silent forest was slowly filled with sickening, tormented screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart by [@wanderingworldwarrior](https://wanderingworldwarrior.tumblr.com/post/165211857459/i-was-listening-to-littlemisssyreids-fanfiction):  
> 


	2. Chapter 2

On the outskirts of the city, a great distance away from the main city and its glittering palace, lay a small greening village of no more than 600 peoples. The town’s inhabitants were hardened and hearty on account of the toil and labour that had allowed their home to prosper. Such success was granted in part by the vast forest that lay adjacent…

Thanks to the resources provided by the neighbouring woods, a thriving economy had been cultivated within the town. The first mile of forest alone held plenteous income for the town. A particularly large river that passed the edge provided ample fishing opportunities. Bushes bristling with berries and root vegetables were easily found. Even veins of metal ores and precious stones were locatable within a day of dedicated searching.

The only way out of the city was via a main road that also navigated the thick trees. Carriages moved through it on a daily basis, bringing goods to and from the village. Despite the traffic on this path, nobody ever dared to venture away from it, for fear of what terrors the shadowy thicket held.

Everyone in the village had a role. If you were strong, you felled wood. If you were fast, you hunted. If you were patient, you herded cattle.

It was probably why you felt so isolated.

You were strong, but not strong _enough_. Fast, but not fast _enough_. You also had the patience of a shrew. It was no good. Your strengths lay in unvalued skills. You could read a novel back to back overnight. You could perform calculations that would stun scholars. You enjoyed staying up late and mapping the stars. The only quality that mildly impressed the elders was that of your storytelling. It entertained the village children long enough that the adults were bid a minute’s peace to get on with their “real work”.

As the sun peeked over the treetops, you stepped out into the crisp early morning air and inhaled deeply. A short distance away, your father could be seen lifting his axe to the sky and letting it drop. With a forest so close to home, wood was hardly a rare commodity. It sold well and had a plentiful supply. As a result, your father’s trade of wood felling was respected throughout the community, even if his daughter was not.  
“Good morning, Papa,” you said, pulling down the hood of your cloak so that you could greet him.

“Aye, that it is,” he said, puffing out his chest. “Dare I ask if you’re up this early to join me on a venture?”  
“No, Papa, not today. I heard the tradesman in the next village over is bringing in some new books today – cast out from the royal palace’s library!” You failed to hide the sheer delight in your voice. “I’m intending to trade my old music box for one of them.”  
“Your music box?” your father sniffed. “You won’t get much for that, girl. Tatty old thing looks worse than I ever saw it.”  
“But look at the gold ornaments on the sides, Papa, and the beautiful figurine inside. It must be worth something.”

Despite your points, your father seemed unmoved in his opinion. Rolling his eyes, he lifted his axe once more and let it sink into the next chunk of wood. The newly separated log pieces jumped apart. You frowned and pulled your hood back up over your head.  
“I’ll be home for supper. Goodbye, Papa.”

It was a short walk from your cabin to the village market. You passed the baker who smiled politely as you drew closer.  
“Good morning,” he said.  
“New batch?” You asked, eyeing up the rolls on the tray in his hands.  
“Fresh this morning. Take one if you like!”

You held up your hands and stepped back.  
“I have no money for it, and-”  
“Your father’s logs were what I cooked them on. Take one!”

You moved on with your journey one bread loaf heavier, but knew you’d be grateful for it down the road. The baker emptied his bread into an empty wicker basket on his stall. His wife stood to inspect them.  
“Are we missing one?”  
“I just ran into (y/n) and passed one on for her father.”

“Oh, her father, such a nice man…” The baker’s wife smiled.  
“I know what you think of his daughter and I’d ask you to keep your thoughts to yourself. She’s been nothing but pleasant to this family – especially when the children need watching.” The baker’s wife grunted and turned away, knowing that it was better to say nothing at all. Satisfied, the baker put the tray under his arm and returned to his stove.

* * *

You turned at the sound of your name being yelled across the village.  
“Hi, Jarle,” you said as he fought through a crowd of people to reach you. His face was red and he had to catch his breath before he could speak.  
“Hi, sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your day, I just… I just wanted to say hi.”

You smiled, and turned to face him properly.  
“How are you?”  
“I’m good, Jarle. How’s your mother?”  
“Feeling a lot better. Which reminds me, I owe you thanks for that poultice you made her. It really helped with the swelling.”

You hummed lightly and held your hand out in the direction of the path. Jarle followed you as you continued your journey.  
“I must admit – that’s nice to hear. Your mother didn’t seem to keen when I was applying it.”  
“Yes, she’s a little… blunt, I’m afraid, and seems to think-”  
“That I’m a good-for-nothing layabout with no skills to offer to the village?”

Jarle chuckled slowly and scratched the back of his neck.  
“That was… verbatim, actually. Well done.”  
“Thanks,” you laughed.

The two of you walked a little further until you reached the largest house in the village that belonged to Jarle and his mother.  
“I won’t come in,” you smirked. “I think her heart would give out.”  
“She likes you, really.” You raised an eyebrow and folded your arms. “Okay, but she loves me and _I_ like you, so that’ll be enough.”

After a small sigh, you bent down and picked a couple of flowers that were around your feet.  
“Give these to her, and send her my best.” Jarle was the villager’s architect. His hands were calloused and they seemed to linger on your hands a little longer than you were used to. His eyes were fixated on you. Worryingly.

“So for that poultice,” he said eventually, clearing his throat and pulling his hands – and the flowers – behind his back, “I think I owe you dinner.”  
“No, Jarle, you don’t have to-”  
“Please, I insist. Dinner with me, tonight. Just after sunset, I’ll call at your father’s house. I won’t take no for an answer.”

“Jarle-” You sighed.  
“No! In fact, I’m going to go and give these beautiful flowers to my mother now so I can’t hear you declining. Good day, (y/n). I look forward to this evening.”

Just like that he was gone. You clutched your basket a little tighter, drew in a breath, and moved on with your day.

* * *

You passed a few more villagers on your way to the main road, blissfully ignorant to their conversation after you’d left. Eventually, you were out of the city and moving quickly alongside the main road. Owing to your early wake-up, the road was bare of any carriages. You swung your basket as you walked, completely content with yourself and your surroundings.

As you walked, you kept an eye on the woods either side of you – partly in search of tidbits to take with you, and partly to make sure you weren’t attacked whilst unaware.

A particularly plentiful bush of berries caught your eye and you stooped over it to pick a few off. You intended to make a jam when you were home. As you did so, the sound of horse’s hooves reached your ears and you stepped off of the road to let the carriage pass.

Once you were safe to do so, you continued picking berries. The next thing you heard was that of the same carriage slowing to a stop. _Strange_ , you thought. _The road is for transit. There’d be no need to stop unless -_

A large hand grabbed your wrist and pulled you to the floor. Before the wind could even be knocked from your breast, there were three men on top of you. Your basket was ripped from your hand and broken in the frantic search for riches.  
“What else?” One of them spat in your face. “What else have you got?”  
“I- I- I have nothing I swear,” you whimpered, praying for rescue, praying for a saviour.

But nobody came.

Having completely searched your belongings, the men were disappointed. You knew what that meant – they would take the next best thing they could think to sell.

You weight nothing to them, and were pulled to your feet with ease. The tallest of your attackers walked in front whilst his two accomplices tugged you towards their carriage behind him, terror preventing the use of your legs. With your head bowed and your body limp, you were dragged across the forest floor to what you assumed was the end. You closed your eyes and prayed to whatever gods would listen. You prayed, and prayed, and prayed, for you could think of nothing else to do.

The sound of a twig snapping struck momentary panic into the eyes of your captors and without thinking you threw your head against that of that assailant on your right. The pain of his skull cracking against yours was enough to blind you – and blind you it did. You crumpled towards the ground, dizzy and sick, pulling your other captor to the floor with you. He grunted as he was yanked to the floor, but you were one step ahead. The adrenaline had kicked in. You were sprinting away as fast as your shaking legs would carry you, all but one thought escaping your head: _run_. The third captor watched as you escaped, placing a hand over the chest of his partner when he made to follow you.  
“Leave it,” the third man sighed. “She’s _his_ problem now. We fulfilled our end of the bargain.”

You could hear blood rushing in your ears, and felt your heart thumping in your throat. Everything felt wobbly and sick. Had that really just happened? Had you really just escaped a fate worse than death? Branches and leaves whipped past your face as you leapt over logs and continued to flee on foot. Your lungs burned with the cold morning air, and the adrenaline waned as reality sunk in. You could feel your muscles aching, the bruises on your face burning, and even a cut or two on your arms and legs. Despite all of this, you were driven to keep running. You weren’t about to leave any possibility of them catching you for a second time.

As you turned to check behind you for pursuers, you felt a sharp pain to the back of your head and the world went black as your body slumped to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart by [@shitpostingmom](http://shitpostingmom.tumblr.com/post/172457319745):  
> 


	3. Chapter 3

You groaned gutturally, long and slow. Against the quiet of the woodland, though, it seemed even louder and more brash. The twittering of wildlife was quiet in your ears; your senses were only coming back slowly. The world remained black for quite a while as the thrum of the thicket gradually grew in volume. When the world was no louder than a rumble, your sight slowly began to return.

A kaleidoscope of greens and blues greeted you, the sight of the forest ceiling feeling oddly welcoming. You lifted your heavy head and attempted to sit up, cursing the wooziness you felt. Placing a hand on the back of your skull, you felt a tender lump and turned to see what had hit you. A particularly thick branch was swinging limply.

“Maker’s breath,” you hissed, letting your legs wake up before trying to stand. That wasn’t what slowed you, however. Your skirt was ripped up to the knees where a particularly large cut lay on your ankle. Hitting the floor had taken more of a toil on you than you’d originally thought. On top of that, even more bruises littered your skin – and as you attempted to stand, you felt your right ankle give way and you were on the floor once more.

Eventually, with the help of a nearby tree, you were able to make a go of standing upright. Walking was the next challenge. By leaning on branches, grasping at logs, and even crawling at times, you were able to wobble your way forwards.

Or at least, you hoped it was forwards.

* * *

 

In all honesty, you had no idea where you were or where you intended to go. Still, anywhere was better than nowhere, you told yourself, clinging to the miniscule amount of hope that such a notion could drum up. However, after the third time of telling yourself that (and the fourth time of falling over again), you were beginning to lose any optimism that you might find salvation.

“I’m going to die in these woods,” you began to lament aloud. Your stomach grumbled indignantly and the thumping of your head was verging on unbearable. Though you continued to walk, your motivation was waning. Every step pushed small tears into your eyes.

When you saw the tower, you wept with relief.

It could’ve been the ugliest eyesore in all of the realms and still you would’ve felt your heart swell. All injuries seemed momentarily forgotten as you burst into the sunlight and limped with haste across the open pasture. The twisted ankle made running nearly impossible, but you nonetheless persisted until you could rest your body against the blue stone.

Only it wasn’t stone. It was too cold for that. Not that you were complaining of course – you were desperate for ice on your wounds, and the beautiful condensation that seemed to weep from the walls felt like bliss on your skin.

You could see no door outright but one of the bricks came loose enough for you to peek inside. You could just about make out the bottom of a staircase. Was this tower… functional? A home? Surely not… What possible purpose could someone have for living in the middle of nowhere? Least of all in a tower made of ice.

You decided to deliberate the details later, focusing on getting inside and hoping there’d be someone there to help. You pulled the loose brick out of the tower wall, and found that in turn several others loosened too. Soon enough, there was a decent sized hole in place of the tower’s architecture. You clambered inside and began replacing the bricks. You weren’t a vandal, after all.

Eventually, you began the ascent up what suddenly looked like a lot steeper staircase than that which you’d prepared yourself for. It occurred to you after the first few steps that the tower hadn’t looked as high from the outside. You prayed that the climb wouldn’t be rendered impossible by your injuries.

The climb, for a long while, was silent. The tower held no sounds that you could hear other than that of your footsteps. Either it was as sickeningly high as it looked, or there was genuinely nobody home.

Silence continued for several minutes more – until a chilling voice echoed around the space and nearly scared you out of your skin.   
“Leave now or be made to leave,” said the voice. It was harsh and cold, without an ounce of sympathy. Judging by the ethereal method of delivery, they were capable of magic. That scared you more than you could admit. You wondered whether they could see you or just hear you. The better part of you wanted to believe that if they could see you (and the state that you were in) that they’d be more willing to help.

“P-please,” you begged the empty air, “I was attacked and I need help. I don’t mean to trespass but-”  
“ _Leave now, or be made to leave._ ”  
“I’m sorry to ask it of you but my injuries are severe. I need only a few moments’ rest and-”

You didn’t reach the end of your sentence before you felt the ground shiver beneath you. Looking to your feet, you witnessed the icy floor beneath you beginning to shimmer. Suddenly what was once a staircase became a long, slippery, and cold slope. You fell hard, and were swept back down to the base of the tower in no time at all, where you rolled a few feet away.

The fall was the final straw. You had no hope. No strength. Nothing. You felt completely and utterly broken. When you stopped rolling, you simply lay there, staring at the icy floor.

And you cried.

It started slowly, with a single drop onto the ice. However, all that one tear did was draw attention to your reflection in the floor. Your miserable reflection – with a quivering jaw, a cut on your lip, and a bulbous purple bump under your right eye. You cried slowly and softly, because you just couldn’t stop.

The slope reverted to its previous form, making way for a shadowy figure to descend, beckoned by the sound your whimpers. Silent footsteps carried it lower, leaving you ignorant to its presence until they were upon you.   
“What do you want?”

Startled, you turned and looked up suddenly at your present company. The man was tall and lean, with a slender face to match. Though his appearance was young, his eyes spoke of an age you couldn’t place, a scrutiny and a hardness that only came of a lifetime’s experiences. His mouth was thin and he watched you warily, narrowing his eyes to emphasise how obviously displeased he was with your presence. He wore an emerald shirt and loose-fitting trousers, and his feet were bare. How a man dressed so simply could be so intimidating was beyond you, but he commanded your attention nonetheless.

“What did you say?”

“What do you want?” Though alarmed, you were able to sit up enough to grant a response, albeit a stammering one.   
“I just need food and water and-”  
“No, what do you _want_? What do you want with me?”

That left you at a loss for words. What did he mean? You stammered various vowels trying to respond but the whole situation was vexing you more. The man sighed curtly.   
“Do know who I am?”   
“N-no.”

“How did you find me?”  
“I got lost in the woods, and-”

“Then return to the woods. I’m sure you can find a way to break out again, like you broke in.”   
“I… I can’t leave,” you sniffed, resisting the urge to begin crying once again. All of these questions seemingly weren’t getting you help.   
“Why not?” The thin man asked, with barely a change of expression.   
“My ankle. It’s twisted, and I have bruises all ov-”  
“Can you walk?” He snapped. “Because these injuries seemed immemorable when you were climbing my staircase.”

“I… can limp but-”  
“Then you may limp away from this place. I am not open to guests, nor impertinent women who outstay a welcome they never had. Get up, and leave me in peace,” he hissed.

The man turned to leave once more, having only ascended one step when hearing you sniff caused him to halt.   
“Please,” you whimpered, pulling yourself a little closer. Looking over his shoulder, he could see just how badly hurt you were. The cuts, the bruises, the way your ankle was twisted in a way that it most definitely should not be – even the large bleeding slice across the back of your calf was staining the floor.

“I need… your help.”  
“There is no food here, no water, and I have little furnishings, no bed for you to steal.”  
“Then I sleep on the floor. I entreat you, sir. Help me. I would not ask were I not so desperate I intend to take nothing from you that you cannot spare. All I ask for is a roof over my head that I might not die outside.”

You risked looking into the man’s eyes and begging once more for his generosity. After a momentary but painful pause, he closed his eyes and turned.   
“If you can climb the staircase, you may rest at the top of the tower.”

* * *

 

Loki waited on the bottom step to see whether you could stand. It took you several goes but eventually you hobbled over to him at a snail’s pace. He was not about to wait.

As soon as you too had begun the ascent, he began the trek back to the top of his tower and wondered what consequences would follow of letting this stranger into his prison. Though she was restricted by her injuries, she could still come and go as she pleased from the tower and the thought gave him a bitter taste in his mouth.

 _Yes_ , Loki decided. _As soon as she well enough to leave, she will do so._


	4. Chapter 4

By the time you reached the top of the stairs, your calves were screaming in agony. Though the tower had indeed looked tall from the outside, it hadn’t looked that tall. The mysterious owner of the tower had long since left you behind and you weren’t entirely sure whether you were permitted to find sanctuary alone or whether you should seek permission first.

Your manners dictated that you pursue the second course of action.

That last few steps had been negotiated on your hands and knees, the weight of your wounds all but crippling you. Thankfully, the cool floor kept your muscles from failing entirely, and it welcomed you once more at the summit as you lay on your back; panting and slightly shaking, but still alive.

Eventually, after having caught your breath, you sat up and examined your surroundings. Straight ahead was a crystalline door that held a pattern akin to a clear stained-glass window. Though blurry, it was otherwise transparent and you could see the mysterious man within, sat down on something.

Using the handle of the frosty door, you pulled yourself up and limped further inside. The sight before you was exquisite.

It shouldn’t have surprised you that not only the exterior was made of snow and ice. You hobbled into what you assumed was the main room, a large octagonal room with a bay window to the north-west. It was in this that the strange man sat now, one leg hanging off of the window seat and the other tucked up to his chest, where an arm rested.

In the light of the window, you drank in his appearance more clearly. His hair was long and unkempt, framing his face with wiry black lines. His jawline, though prominent, was littered with an unshaven shadow of facial hair. Even more darkness decorated his face in the form of deep shadows under his eyes, and further stress lines around his face, namely on his forehead. He looked very… worn. Frankly he was sad to look at, though you were curious as to his story. How long had he been here?

The rest of the tower, however, was pristine. In contrast to the man it housed, the building seemed to glisten and sparkle. Aside from the main bay window, there were a couple of other windows around the room, as if the gorgeous ceiling above didn’t let in enough light.

To the right was another door, and you decided to ask before perusing the structure on your own.   
“Might I ask your name?” It seemed that the man had no intention of acknowledging your presence unless otherwise prompted to.

“You may,” he replied curtly, neither blinking or turning his head. He simply continued to stare out of the glass. Why didn’t he open the window if he was so keen to see what was on the other side? You waited for only a moment before realising that he was not about to reply as you had hoped.

“W-what is your name?”  
“I am Loki.”

“Loki…” The name sounded familiar but his heritage was of no concern to you right now, especially as you felt your leg stinging. “Do I have your permission to explore, to find what I need?”  
“You do. Whatever you need so long as I am not disturbed.”

Though his manners left much to be desired, you got the message. You were allowed to stay - so long as it didn’t inconvenience him. The temptation to inconvenience him nonetheless out of spite was… growing.

Turning on your pained feet, you made for the door on your right but stopped before your fingers touched the handle, turning back once more to face him.  
“Um,” you cleared your throat and saw the man’s eyes close. He let out a irked huff. “Thank you… for letting me stay, I mean.”

“I didn’t let you stay,” Loki hissed suddenly, without looking away from the window. “I said that if you could make it up the stairs, you could stay. There was a condition. A clause. Nothing selfless on my part.”  
“Nonetheless, you could’ve continued protesting and forbid me entrance - but you didn’t. That means a lot.”

“If I’d have known that I could’ve continued to protest-”   
“Would you please just take the compliment?” You snapped. It would appear that Loki’s manners forbade him from accepting any form of kindness - but it wasn’t in your nature to allow that. The fact that his eyes tore away from the window showed that you’d either rattled him, or irritated him. You hoped for the sake of your injuries that it was the former. In the hope of sustaining his hospitality, you continued talking. After all, his manners still needed checking.

“If you don’t want the compliment, that’s your problem, but when you don’t let me offer one, then it’s mine. So just… shut up?” You said breathlessly, feeling your ankle’s strength waning again. “Shut up, smile politely, and maybe just give a little nod so I know you’ve heard me.”

Loki’s head turned slowly at first, lifting hooded eyes to stare at you. Perhaps you’d overstepped your boundaries by making demands but the pain of your wounds had pushed you over the edge. You bit your lip and stared him down, holding your ground.

The tension ultimately melted when Loki’s gaze, and in turn his head, moved lower. After bowing his head, he smiled curtly - though acidly.

After returning the favour, you hobbled into the next room, closing the door behind you. The room in which you stood now was just as elegant as the first. The roof was also domed and, just as before, it glittered in the sunlight. What struck you as odd, however, was that from the outside, the tower appeared to only have one room…

As promised, there was no bed. Instead, there was what appeared to be a bed but made entirely of ice. You weren’t sure what you’d expected to be honest. Nonetheless, a place to sit was a place to sit. Several windows were dotted around the sapphire walls and a bookcase leant against the wall, neighbouring another door. You peeked in and found a shimmering bathroom. An empty bath and basin were all that it housed - yet again frost encrusted. You were beginning to get sick of the colour blue.

Having satiated your curiosity, you returned to the bed and examined your wounds. They weren’t bleeding as much but that actually concerned you. The last thing you needed was an infection because you hadn’t cleaned them in time.

“Shit,” you whispered to yourself. How were you going to clean them?

* * *

Loki didn’t move when the bedroom door opened. You cleared your throat once and still it yielded no reaction.   
“Uh, excuse me,” you murmured. Loki grunted. “I don’t mean to bother you, but… the books in this room: are they… valuable?”  
“Valuable? Are you intending to rob me?”

You smirked.   
“If I was, I certainly wouldn’t ask permission.”  
“Are you sure? Don’t your manners dictate asking the victim before pilfering their wares?” He snapped.

You frowned slightly, and nodded a few times, ready to accept you wouldn’t receive an answer - until Loki spoke once more. He surprised you.   
“No, they’re not… valuable. Just old. I’ve read them so many times I could recite the tales without the scripts.”  
“Fine,” you said, nodding.

Loki thought nothing of your questions. Perhaps he was so used to being without company that he’d completely forgotten how people interacted with one another.

It was only when a gentle trail of smoke snuck its way under the doorframe that his curiosity was tempted. The ashen wisp flew through the air and tickled the inside of his nose. Loki sniffed. He turned.   
“What in the…”

A trail of grey led Loki through the various rooms until he reached the bathroom. Though he could feel his anger bubbling, a dash of curiosity simmered also. He entered the bathroom slowly in the hopes of staying silent, and his eyes befell the strangest of sights. Amidst the blue room was a phenomenon that had long since been lost to him.

Orange.

Beautiful, bright, and burning orange. Literally burning.

You sat in the corner of the empty tub with a burning bonfire of books a few inches from your feet. The heat of the fire was not enough to do any serious damage - not to such a hefty magical fortification - but the sides of the bath looked sad and watery, dripping into puddles around you.

In your hand, you clutched a ragged piece of cloth that had been ripped from your sleeve by the look of it. Having let it soak in the newly formed puddle, you dug your teeth into your bottom lip and pushed the cloth against your reddened leg, exerting a mild whimper. Loki might’ve been mad had he not been overwhelmingly impressed.

Having realised that you had gained company, you looked up and your mouth dropped open.   
“I- I- I’m sorry.”  
“What for exactly? For burning my property? For destroying my home?”  
“All… All of it.”

Forgetting his previous impression, Loki’s fists clenched at his sides and you could see his cheeks hollowing where his teeth ground. Storming around the edge of the bathtub, he bowed down, and put his face an inch away from yours.   
“You take care of your injuries…” he growled, “and then you leave here. Do not return. Do I make myself clear?”


	5. Chapter 5

The only sounds to fill the silence after Loki left were the crackle and spit of the fire. In retrospect, burning the man's property for a little water might not have been the best idea but it was a necessary evil.

You stomped out the burning books and sighed. Such a waste. From the ashes, smoke began to fill the room, making your eyes water, so you retreated to the bedroom. With all other doors closed, the smoke was free to make its escape through the various windows. Meanwhile, you positioned yourself as comfortably as possible on the "mattress" and begged for sleep.

And, boy, did it come...

* * *

 

Loki was irate. He paced the main floor, muttering and cursing a name he didn't yet know, arms folded over his chest. With no furniture to kick nor enough free space to clear his mind, he elected to curl up in his window seat and stew in bitter silence. The act had served him well in the past and would undoubtedly suit now.

The way he saw it: his mental state was a deep, deep pond. His emotions were pushed to the very bottom where they lay as sediment against the sand. Dark and murky thoughts filled every inch of the pond as the water; water considered too deep and too dangerous to explore. Nobody dared venture into his waters for fear of drowning - nobody cared enough to try. Instead, they preferred to throw rocks and stir up the pond's contents for their own amusement. When such events occurred, and Loki could feel the whirlwind within him, he knew that solitude was the solution. Time alone - away from the stone-throwers - so that the sediment would settle again, and the pond could exist in peace.

Unfortunately, the pond had been in peace for too long. It had all but frozen over.

That was until someone new had come along, and pulled apart the ice, forcing their way inside. Once again, sediment stirred and Loki felt emotions - rage – that he hadn't touched upon in a millenia.

Loki couldn't say how long it had been since the first day of his imprisonment. For a while, he'd counted each passing sun and moon, etching each one as a line on the walls. Eventually, he'd run out of space.

Instead, Loki began to sit in the window seat and watch the world go by. It began as a coping mechanism, and continued as habit. His hair grew longer, his face become weathered, but the Tower... The Tower never changed. The scratches on the walls had long since healed. The ice lacked any signs of dust, dirt, or deterioration. It was testament to the magic that fuelled it - and mocked him every second he dared to think about breaking free.

Realising that his mind had wandered to this, such morbid and tormenting thoughts, Loki blinked hard and shook his head. Instead, his eyes fixated on the handle that locked his window. It taunted him, and made him uncomfortable, forcing him back onto his feet. He rolled his shoulders back, and cleared his throat, sizing up to it.

'This isn't going to work,' he told himself.

Loki lifted a tentative hand and reached forward, letting his fingers close around the handle. It was shaped like a snake whose head and tail curled in on itself. The cold prickled his skin as he touched it but not uncomfortably. In fact, it almost felt... hopeful. To say he'd always been comfortable around snow and the cold was true - but not like this. Never like this.

Loki pulled the handle down. It twisted cleanly and clicked. He flexed the muscles in his arm, sucked in a breath, and pushed.

Of course it didn't work.

The window stayed firmly closed no matter how much force he applied. One hand, two hands: nothing. The same as usual. He growled in frustration, but ultimately gave up the fight. What had he expected? He lets a stranger into his home and suddenly all is forgiven? Not likely.

Loki wrapped his arms around himself and threw himself back onto the window seat.

In the hopes of dissipating his effervescent anger, Loki shut his eyes and cast his bait into the waters of his mind. He fished for something distracting, to take his mind off recent events.

What he reeled in was distracting, yes, but not in the way he had hoped for.

His eyes snapped open at the sound of thunder. He could see only sky - a pale palette of whites and blues. Sitting up, he looked around and spied a woman of haggard appearance in front of him. Surrounding her were many, many trees. Loki was stunned; they appeared to be in some sort of clearing in the woods. Wherever they were, it was definitely not his cell.

Was this some sort of cruel trick? Or was he really free? He didn't have long to ponder it. The movement of this woman's hands was all too familiar and Loki was in no hurry to discover what type of magic his kidnapper was enacting.

As he stood, however, he felt the ground beneath him shift worryingly. His feet sunk into the earth quickly, like the soil had suddenly become saturated with... water.

Where he stared at his feet, a bolt of lightning suddenly hit. Air rushed both into and out of his lungs as he felt his body be swept unexpectedly upwards. For a moment he felt nothing but weightlessness. The ultimate peace. Then there was solidity beneath him and he was able to open his eyes once more.

* * *

 

Loki awoke suddenly. The nightmare had washed over him far too easily; he hadn't suffered such things in so long. No doubt it was somehow your fault.

Stretching the sleep out of his shoulders, Loki yawned and resumed a more comfortable position before returning his gaze to the outside world. In the end, it would always come back to this. The window seat, the frosted glass, and the view of the world outside. In this position, Loki was capable of passing a lot of time with little hardship. One day quickly became two, and two became three.

Whereas normally, his solitude would go unquestioned, Loki found himself unable to settle. No matter how many times he readjusted his posture, he couldn't get comfortable. Something was bothering him.

It occurred to him that passing 4 days in silence was nothing amiss from his own routine - but surely it could not be yours. To have spent 4 days with little food and water, especially given the condition you had arrived in, was abnormal to say the least.

Given these thoughts, two voices in Loki's head spoke up. One told him that you were a stranger; that you'd bothered him enough since you'd been here and that it was likely just another plot to bother him again. You were a thorn in the side and not one to be mourned should something be wrong.

The other voice offered concern.

What if something happened? What if your injuries were worse? If there was a body somewhere in the tower, better to deal with it now before it began to decompose.

Rolling his eyes, Loki made for the bedroom door, grumbling to himself as he went. How inconvenient! How inconsiderate of you to die in his tower.

Of course, in all his mithering, Loki never expected any of it to be true.

In all honesty, he expected to find you alive and well and fully capable of arguing with him when he accused you of inadvertently bothering him. However, instead, he found you unconscious on the untouched bed of ice, sweating and shivering in your sleep. Something was definitely not okay.

Loki didn't care. He reminded himself that he didn’t care multiple times as he checked your temperature, and looked over your wounds. Most had cleared up nicely - the bruises on your face were practically gone, and the cut on your lip had healed completely. He checked the wounds on your arms, and then moved to your legs, shifting your ripped skirt a modest amount to protect your dignity.

Thankfully, he didn't need to do any more searching to see the problem.

When you'd first arrived at the base of the tower, Loki remembered noticing the huge slash along the back of your calf. Even back then it had looked awful. Now, though, it looked positively disgusting. A sickening green hue lined the laceration and it smelled positively putrid. As well as that, the skin surrounding it was slightly swollen.

All in all: not good, he diagnosed.

Loki rubbed his hands together furiously and summoned something within him that had not been touched in... Well, Loki couldn't remember the last time he'd used magic.

He suddenly had a flashback to his first night in the tower, when he'd thrown every spell under the sun at his snowy prison walls. 'Never mind,' he thought, 'I can remember...'

Shaking aside his traumas, Loki let his own shade of green seep into the wound. The magic seemed to crackle as it swum through the air, reacting and oxidising and eager for the practice it had been denied for so long. It was excited. His magic tugged at the edges of your torn flesh and pulled them together, before blending with the veins and the muscles, and draining them of any unsightliness. Already the wound looked healthier.

As Loki finished fixing you, he gave himself one last reminder that this was in no way selfless. This was saving himself a job. The last thing he needed was to be dragging a body out of a tower that he couldn't even leave. There was no guarantee he'd even be able to make an opening to remove the corpse!

'Yes,' he said contentedly, 'this is just a precaution so that I don't have to deal with a rotting body at the bottom of the staircase.'

Once he'd finished, Loki rubbed his hands on his trousers once more and made to leave. He looked over his shoulder and noted that you were no longer shivering. In fact, you rolled over and snuffled in your sleep, apparently much more comfortable. Happy with his work, Loki nodded and made once more for the window seat.

The sediment stopped swirling and began a gentle descent. At least for now, the pond was at peace.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally found the time to upload!

Amid your dreams, you felt a sudden pressure on your chest that was heavy as an anvil. It felt like a paperweight on your lungs, thinning each breath and making it exponentially harder with each inhale. Slowly, as you came around though, the anvil’s weight was alleviated and your respiratory abilities bettered.

The world was murky and a deep, dark crimson. Something about the bitter taste in your mouth and the ache in your jaw indicated that you had slept intensely, and for quite some time, though you couldn’t count the hours at the moment. You managed to pry your eyelids apart despite how they protested and in your attempt to sit up, you felt a small pain in your leg. Lifting your skirt, you examined your wound to see that it looked-

-remarkably well.

“You’re awake.” A voice boomed, startling you into throwing your skirt back across your exposed leg. Loki stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He looked as displeased as ever. You wondered if the sour expression on his face was permanent on account of sulking so much.   
“Did you come to check on me?” You asked, expecting that he would no doubt lament about the burdens of your company. It made you thankful that your leg was mended, so you would be free to leave this place sooner rather than later.   
“No, I did not.”

Silence came swiftly, courtesy of the blunt conversation. As Loki crossed the room, you looked anywhere but at him, lest you he think you to be acting unduly. Oddly enough, he navigated around the bed and came to your side. His hand moved to the material of your skirt and began to lift. Without hesitation, you punched him square in the face. It wasn’t enough to do any real harm but thankfully preserved your modesty.   
“Can I _help_ you with something?” you growled. Loki recoiled, a hand on his jaw where your fist had collided.

“Your _leg_ ,” he growled back. “It was infected and I cured it. One would expect gratitude in return as opposed to physical violence.”  
“And one would expect some form of permission before grasping somebody’s undergarments.” Loki ground his bruised jaw before spitting out an almost-apology.

From the floor beneath his feet, ice began to grow like snowy stalagmites. They twisted and turned to create an ornate frost-covered chair, just in time for Loki to lower himself into it. Did the Tower… respond to him? Once seated, he laced his hands together in his lap and stared at you pointedly. He apparently expected more conversation. To you that seemed strange, given his obvious distaste for your company.

“How- How bad was it?” You asked, keeping a low voice. Unsurprisingly, you were a little disconcerted by the proximity. Thankfully his stature denoted that he was accompanying you for strictly medical terms, like a doctor would a patient – albeit an incredibly arrogant doctor with no discernible qualifications. The sooner you could leave here, the better.

“Discoloured, exuding awful fluids, and frankly a smell that could choke a gryffon.”  
“Then I guess I do owe you some sort of thanks,” you sighed. Tugging at the top of your skirt, you lifted the material high enough that you could both examine your leg. It looked remarkably healthy, if a little red and swollen.

“Your prompt departure from my tower will be all the payment I require,” he said, nodding dutifully and standing up. At the sight of the chair vanishing into a cloud of snowflakes, you were prompted to pry further.   
“If I might ask, what exactly _is_ this place?”

Loki froze.   
“You may not ask.”

“I’ve been here almost a day now; do you expect me not to ask-”  
“Four days,” Loki corrected you. “The wound on your leg caused you to pass out, and drained you enough to keep you comatose. You have in fact slept for four days.”

“Four days?!” You cried, trying to sit up. Despite how well your leg looked, it still felt like a stocking filled with needles. “Why didn’t you say so? I must go - my father will be worried sick!”

“You cannot leave in your current condition,” Loki argued, though making no movement to stop you from sitting up and clambering out of bed. “You’ve barely awoken.”  
“I cannot just sit here. They’re probably searching for me!”

Loki followed you as you hobbled into the main room and made for the main door. His arms were folded and he rolled his eyes as you spoke. Part of him was impressed; you shouldn’t be moving as fast as you were. No doubt the adrenaline served as your motivation – adrenaline that would run dry before you made it out of the tower.  
“I certainly won’t stop you from going,” he chuckled. “If you can make it down those stairs, then why shouldn’t you make it all the way home?”   
“Exactly,” you affirmed as you swung the door open. However, you barely made it one step out of the door before you were suddenly crippled, and on your knees. You clutched your stomach as it roared with pain.

“Oh, what is it _now_?” Loki asked, stepping next to you with his hands on your hips.   
“I- I don’t know but… my stomach…” Your words were cut off by another tumultuous rumble. Your clutched it harder and moaned. Loki rolled his eyes.   
“Of course. You are hungry. Four days without food or water and you just tried to walk a marathon. Your body is resisting.”

You didn’t have the strength to answer, nor to walk. Unfortunately, Loki was not inclined to mollycoddle you and simply returned to the main room. You were left to claw at the floor and pull yourself indoors. The pain had come on thick and fast, pushing tears from your eyes. You were _starving._

Looking up, you noticed that Loki looked anything but interested. He had returned to his window seat where he stared out of the window once more. You whimpered as your stomach screamed at you for a third time, and at this his head turned.   
“I don’t know what you expect me to do,” he said, noticing the direction of your gaze. “This tower sustains me. I haven’t needed to eat in years. I have no food.”

“Please,” you whispered, “something. Anything.”

Loki rolled his eyes. Such a encumbrance, he thought. First, you force him to take care of wounds that were not his. Now you were asking this of him? How dare you impose on him like this. Had you no manners?

Despite the torrent of hateful thoughts his brain was providing, he reluctantly gave up his seat and rubbed his hands once more. No doubt it would be possible. Magic, to him, was like learning to read. It was not a skill that one easily forgot. As he closed his eyes to focus, he could feel the forces within him tingling. Like young animals, they were excited, quivering and shaking in anticipation. They wanted to be let out.

Unfortunately, that meant Loki got a little more than he bargained for. In his head, he’d pictured a loaf of bread, with an apple. Nutritious. Healthy. Small. Instead, his thrillful magic took over and gave you everything you could eat and more. There were pastries as well as bread – both native and foreign delights – and a plethora of fruits from which to choose, along with some cheese to garnish them with.

The sight was enough to make you cry, and you barely had time to thank him before you tucked in, grasping at nearby pastry and pulling it to pieces. Over and over, you thanked him, only stopping to put something else in your mouth. Never before had food tasted so good to you. It could’ve been the crippling hunger, or the fact that it was magically procured – it didn’t matter to you now.

Loki sighed and watched you feast like an animal at his feet.   
“Don’t gorge yourself,” he scolded. “Not only is it simply awful to watch, it’s also improper. I may be a monster, but I do still believe in table etiquette.”

You ignored his advice, and reached for the grapes and cheese. Everything was so succulent; you just couldn’t help yourself.   
“I mean it,” Loki warned as he returned to his perch. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

This warning got your attention, and slowly you heeded his advice. Eventually, your stomach settled and you felt a little of your strength return.   
“Thank you,” you murmured with a low head. You toyed with a bread roll anxiously as you spoke, but were unsurprised to get no response. Oddly, that was reassuring. Anything he could’ve said would no doubt have been dripping with sarcasm. For him to say nothing was… a good sign – or so you hoped.

As your hunger was satiated, you became more aware of how parched you felt and so took yourself silently to the bathroom once more. Luckily, the bath still contained some of the water you’d made in trying to clean your wounds. It was beautiful crisp and cold, each drop feeling like a breath of fresh air in your system.

Now fed and watered, your felt suddenly tired. You’d have thought that sleeping for four days would’ve been enough but evidently no. Too exhausted to fight it, you returned to the bed and lay down.   
“Just… a few… minutes…” you lied to yourself as your eyes slid shut.

When Loki finally decided to search for his absent guest, you were completely at peace. No shaking. No sweating. Nothing for him to take care of.

It didn’t stop him conjuring a small blanket to drape over your bed of ice before returning to his window seat, however.

“Don’t need her freezing to death before she can leave,” he muttered as he resumed his sulky gazing.

 

The next morning, faint bird song from the woods below prised you from the land of nod. You rolled over and pushed the blanket off of your person with no thought as to where it had appeared from. The minute your feet hit the floor, you knew.

It was time to go home.

Sure enough, every step you took on your previously injured leg strengthened it. You’d finally be able to make the journey back.

“Would you care to take any more of my property to burn along the way?” Loki called out to you from the summit of the staircase. You ignored his taunting and continued your descent. Four days. Four god damned days. There was no telling the panic that your family must be feeling.

It was much easier going down than up, and before you knew it, you were replacing the bricks in the tower’s wall and limping through the glade towards the forest’s beckoning branches. Little did you know, a familiar pair of eyes watched you through frosted glass, ensuring that you left his tower for what he hoped was the last time…

* * *

 

“I just don’t understand, sir,” Jarle said to your father whilst pacing the floor of your home. “She’s been missing for days. How can you be so calm?”  
“You worry too much, lad. I’m sure she simply found the books in that village so interesting that she decided to stay a while longer.”  
“I beg your pardon sir, but that’s is complete and utter horse-”

The fire in the hearth extinguished in next to time at all, and Jarle turned to see a very ragged version of yourself leaning against the recently closed door. He cried your name and vaulted over a coffee table to reach you. Immediately, he was pulling twigs and leaves from your hair, and brushing the dirt from your face.  
“I’m alright,” you assured him. “It’s alright, I’m alright.”

Your father stood from his chair and crossed to the fireside where he kicked the embers gently with his foot until they reignited. You pushed Jarle back enough that you could run to and hold him.   
“I missed you greatly,” you whispered into his shoulder, though he had not turned to reciprocate.   
“How was the other village?” He asked. You stepped back, turned to look at Jarle – whose face was red – and then back at your father. This had to be a joke.

“I… I never made it there, father.”  
“That’s unfortunate. You were so looking forward to the journey.”  
“Father, I’ve been missing for days – did you not think that something might have gone amiss?”  
“I didn’t want anybody to worry. I hoped for the best.”

He kept speaking, no doubt trying to justify his complacency, but you were no longer listening. Jarle appeared by your side, placed his hands on your shoulders, and began steering you out of the room. He whispered something comforting in your ear, but you weren’t paying attention.

Had nobody really noticed that you were missing?


	7. Chapter 7

You hissed as a sharp pain prickled on your shoulder.   
“Sorry,” Jarle chuckled as he drew back.  
“Is _this_ why your mother hates me?” You asked with a smirk as you rolled your shoulder. Despite having healed well at the Tower, the journey back had been no less perilous and had left you with as many a scar, albeit smaller ones. Jarle dipped the cloth into the coconut-sized bowl once more.   
“My mother has been set in her brooding ways long before you made her this poultice.”

“I can’t believe there’s any left. I thought the old hag might have used a bigger dose to fix her sour mood.”  
“Watch your tongue,” Jarle laughed. You bit your lip and hummed quietly as he applied a little more to your wounds and rubbed it in with his finger.

You found your gaze drawn to him as he worked, noticing how different his features looked in the dim candlelight. A strong jawline was decorated with honey-coloured facial hair, remnants of a beard that he’d shaved after his mother had made comment. It complimented his dirty blonde hair; generally unruly, but currently swept back on account of how often he’d run his hand through it. Curse of a worrier, he often said. Copper coins lay in his eyes, attentively applying salve where it was needed. His expression was soft and kind, a gentle smile that only took up one side of his mouth.

“What?” He asked, when he noticed the direction of your gaze.   
“Nothing I just… I can’t believe that my father didn’t miss me.” Jarle nodded glumly and put the bowl down in his lap.   
“I missed you. I was about ready to call a search party when you came home.”

You placed a hand on the side of his cheek and thanked him. Perhaps it was narcissistic of you to wish that you had been missed. Then again, you’d almost died and had you not saved yourself, you might not have been saved at all.

“I especially missed you… on our date.”

You pulled your hand swiftly away.   
“It was a date?”  
“I mean… It didn’t have to be, but I did – I mean when I asked – I sort of assumed, no, not assumed, but wanted…” Jarle sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I might have wanted it to be.”

* * *

 

The wind whirled and howled, gracing your cheeks with cold, sharp kisses. However, so preoccupied with your thoughts were you, that the sadistic weather was the last thing on your mind.   
“Just so you know, father,” you had said as you pulled your cloak hood over your head, “this time I will actually be gone for a while. Don’t feel like you ought to call a town meeting this time.”

Having thought it over, you’d decided that you had every right to be mad at your father. Had something more serious occurred, something you couldn’t fix on your own, how long would it have taken him to care? How long would he have sat around, letting Jarle do all the worrying for him?

Only one other person had aided you. Perhaps, at the time, it had not been the attention you’d sought – after all, he only checked in on you to see when you’d be leaving – but nonetheless it was his intervention that had saved your life. You intended to repay him for that.

After half a day’s walking, you decided to stop and recalculate your journey. If there was one thing you could do that no other villager could, it was navigate. They chopped trees, which made the paper for you to chart stars on. It was no surprise you were also pretty nifty with a compass. Luckily, you didn’t require much more readjustment to your course. A few minutes of reaching, grabbing, and traversing, the branches lifted you to the summit of the tree. As soon as your head poked above the canopy, you could see the blue of the Tower in the distance. It was almost pale enough that it blended into the sky behind it, but there was no ignoring the way the sun hit the bricks of ice.

Just looking at it once more rose all sorts of questions in your mind. Why was it there? Why was Loki its only inhabitant? And why did he not leave?

Ignoring all your curiosity, you jumped nimbly to the forest floor and kept walking. On your arm was a wicker basket filled with food. Coincidentally, it had been much of what he’d given you to quench your hunger after you’d awoken the first time. Breads, cheeses, fruits, and even a small bottle of your father’s best wine. You felt no penance at stealing the bottle; he owed you that much, you figured.

By the time you reached the clearing, the sun was at its highest. The spiked peak of the tower seemed to pierce the bottom of the star, making it look like a giant candle that simply refused to melt. The stairs upwards were ominous as ever. However, you elected to wait before climbing them. Given the greeting you received on your last visit, you weren’t about to climb all the way to the top of the tower only to be told to leave again.

You called Loki’s name and listened to the way it bounced off of the walls. It was unlikely that he had company; you deduced that he’d heard you and waited patiently.

Sure enough, it wasn’t long before a set of gentle footsteps could be heard at the Tower’s pinnacle.   
“Why have you returned?” Loki’s voice boomed throughout the icy structure.   
“You needn’t use such scare tactics this time.”  
“Answer my question.”  
“ _Ask me then._ Do not demand, or I shall say nothing and come up there anyway.”

“Why have you come back here?” He sneered.

Sighing, you placed the wicker basket down onto the ground and tugged back the small cloth that covered the wares within.   
“I don’t doubt you can see me as well as hear me; take a look. Fruits, pastries, and even a little something to drink. It’s everything that you gave me and more.”

Silence. You didn’t quite know where to look. The floor became suddenly more interesting to you.   
“Why… Why did you bring me food?”  
“You have my gratitude for saving me, and I wanted-”  
“That’s all very well but I told you last time, this Tower sustains me. I have no use for it. Or are you absent-minded as well as infuriating?”

Your teeth began to sound like your father’s sawmill. Puffing out your chest, you huffed and snatched up the basket once more.   
“If you have no need for it then-”  
“Wait.”

It wasn’t obvious to you why you stayed. Everything about your interactions with the man should’ve put you off entirely – yet your feet stilled upon his asking. Perhaps it had something to do with Loki’s control over the Tower. Yes, you thought, save your conscience by blaming his magic.

“I… may have no need for it, nor am I at all responsible for that which you give me credit, but… I do appreciate the sentiment behind your coming.” You looked over your shoulder, your gaze turning to noon.  
“And?”  
“…thank you.”  
“That’s better,” you smirked, adjusting your grip on the basket.

The climb to the top was silent, and unaccompanied. When you reached the peak (a little out of breath but otherwise no worse for wear), Loki was exactly where you expected him to be: the window seat. In a crass way of attracting his attention, you removed the fragile bottle of wine – and dropped the basket from shoulder height to the floor. Loki’s head barely turned.

“You may leave now,” he snapped.   
“Actually, I think I will stay. The journey was not short.”  
“Do as you wish.”

After Loki’s almost-permission, you removed the cloak from your shoulders and set it down in the corner of the room.   
“I think I’ll partake in one of the books on your shelf.”  
“To burn or to read?” Loki muttered facetiously.   
“I haven’t decided yet,” you quipped back. “It depends on how nicely you talk to me.”

Loki smirked as he focused his gaze once more.

* * *

 

The bookshelf was brimming with a plethora of authors. Everything from books you’d read as a child, to tales you’d only heard about. You didn’t know where to begin. Reminding yourself that you would not likely be coming here again, you seized the opportunity and selected a title about which you’d only heard good things.

Settling yourself onto the floor in the main room, you pried apart the pages and began to read. After all, there wasn’t much else to do. You picked at the basket of food as you went, knowing that you’d likely be the only one to partake.

Hence your surprise when Loki stood, collected a handful of grapes, and returned to the window.

Slowly, you closed the book and stared at him. The man was a mystery. Seemingly devoid of hunger one minute, then peckish the next. It was about time you had some answers, you wagered.   
“So how long have you been here?” You asked.

Loki’s hand stopped halfway to his mouth.   
“Do not ask questions to which you will not understand the answer.”  
“How will I know what not to ask if you won’t _give_ me an answer?”  
“Simple. Ask nothing.”

You began grinding your teeth again, closing the book completely. You were suddenly – and stubbornly – filled with determination.   
“Very well. I’ll rephrase my question.” Loki was not permitted to speak. “How long have you spent here without company?”

Loki eyed you scrupulously; understanding that you weren’t about to give up on your interrogation, you hoped.   
“I… have lost count of the years,” he ultimately admitted.

“And you said that the Tower sustains you… Is that by design? Did you build this place?” Mention of the tower was evidently too much. Loki folded his arms and curled up into a ball.   
“If you are to stay,” he growled, “you will stay silently.”

Despite your fervent interest in Loki’s history, you held your tongue. If nothing else, you’d proven that with enough effort, you were in fact able to pry information from his lips. It would take a little more dedication to unravel the mystery that was he. Dedication you were happy to commit. It had been too long since you’d had reason to leave your village, and given the rocky relationship between yourself and your father, you were even more eager to give him some space.

“If it’s any consolation,” you said, toying with the corner of the leather-bound manuscript, “I too am alone.”  
“Do you expect a sob story to entice me into conversation?”  
“No, but I did expect one to close their mouth long enough to offer the opportunity,” you snapped. Loki’s mouth did indeed close, not that he looked especially happy about it.

“I live in a village full of people, and yet I am isolated. Fear not, that is all the sobbing you shall hear.” Loki’s interest was piqued – if only for the sake of painting you as pathetically as he hoped you were. Yes, he told himself, it is simply to stroke my ego that I am captivated. “You have no family then?”  
“My father and I clash often. My mother is a good woman, but… rare in appearance. She leaves her sleeping quarters only for food and drink.”

“And what is it you do in this measly town?”  
“I would not slander it so; in fact it is quite an affluent area. I am simple… not the calibre that they deem of importance. Where my father is strong and powerful, I am mild. Where he would go and shoot for fun, I would light candles and read.”  
“An interesting family dynamic,” Loki murmured to himself as he tugged at the hem of his sleeve. You thought nothing of his comment.

When you brought up Jarle’s name, however, his attention was recaptured once more.   
“This Jarle… You are engaged, then?”  
“Jarle and I? No, of course not. He’s a pleasant enough gentleman, but we are good friends at most.” _I might have wanted it to be a date._ You shook your head gently and smiled. “Besides, the only advantage to marrying him that I can think of is that it just might kill his mother.”

Loki smirked as he placed another grape gently in his mouth. You leaned over to search the basket, and were pleased to see nothing but wicker meeting your eye.   
“You were no help,” you sneered, “but we have indeed finished all I brought. I do so hate seeing food wasted so I am glad that my journey wasn’t so.”

“Does this mean you will be leaving now?” Loki asked, without tearing his eyes from the window.   
“Not likely. You shall be rid of me in the morning, when the sun once more graces us.”

Sure enough, night had fallen and the Tower was surrounded by the inky embrace of twilight. Despite an impudent lack of response, you bid Loki goodnight and retired. You were gone in the early hours of the morning, the rising sun beckoning you towards home.


	8. Chapter 8

Every day that you removed the bricks from the tower wall, it seemed to get a little easier. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that your hands were slowly beginning to get accustomed to the cold.

“You’re… back again,” was your greeting. It was oddly reassuring to see that nothing had changed.   
“Relax, I shan’t burden you with my company. I made surprisingly good time today. The sooner I leave, the better.”

You heard a familiar pattering of feet far above your head. Knowing that you now had his attention, you placed the basket on the floor and peeled back the cloth.   
“It’s not as much as yesterday, and my father had no more wine for me to pilfer, but there’s still plenty of tasty offerings. The loaves are fresh from the baker this morning, and there’s some jams in there from my neighbour. There’s also a few vegetables – though I grew those myself so perhaps… perhaps leave the vegetables.”

When you received no response, you sighed curtly. Your inner monologue scolded you; what had you expected? Gratitude? The only gratitude betwixt the two of you had been offered the day prior. That should’ve been the end of it – but the mystery surrounding the tower had enticed you for a second time. You wrestled with your thoughts for only a moment before dropping the basket to the floor.

Had you dropped it a moment later, however, it may have masked the sound of something else hitting the icy ground. The end of the rope sat on the ground, coiled slightly at the end like a limp noodle. It stretched all the way up the middle of the spiralling staircase, and appeared to be glowing slightly, emanating a warming amber glow to the close vicinity.

“You don’t have to climb the stairs now,” said he. You blinked. Somehow, though he was crude, you hadn’t thought he was so discontent with your company. It further perpetuated your doubt as to whether the continuation of this acquaintance was sound in judgement.

Choosing not to dwell on it, you approached the rope and began tying it around the basket’s handle.   
“What are you doing, fool?” You jumped as he snapped at you.   
“I’m giving you your handout – and don’t call me a fool.”  
“I shall call you what you are. The rope was not for the basket.”  
“Then why send it?”

Loki groaned indignantly, and craning your neck you could see his hair whip around as he did so.   
“I told you… So that  _you_  wouldn’t have to climb the stairs.” You couldn’t tell if he was genuinely being considerate or not. “Every time you do, your breathing becomes maddeningly loud.”

Evidently not.

“Please stay,” he said, somewhat quieter. You clenched your jaw.  
“No.”    
“No?”  
“No, I will not join you when I can be home in time for supper. I do not like you. I do not care for your manners. You have never once paid me a kind attention and I will not spend time in such company by choice.”

Silence befell the top of the tower and for a moment you thought that you might have actually bested him.   
“I’m not asking you to stay because I enjoy your company, believe me. Both you and I know that I will not finish that basket of food on my own. I should hate to see it go to waste, as I know you would as well…” You laughed breathily. That scheming man was playing upon your nerves. What gall! He’d only learnt of that the day before.

Against your better judgement, you approached the rope and tied the end to itself, forming a small loop to place your foot into, holding another section of the strangely smooth twine just above your head. You barely had time to grasp the basket handle before you felt yourself being hoisted north. Your stomach lurched as you sped upwards, and your grip increased exponentially.

As you neared the summit, you became suddenly aware that there was hardly any place for you to step off. Your nightmares seemed to realise themselves as you felt the rope beginning to dissipate between your fingers. You reached the top and the rope disappeared completely. Before you could begin falling, however, a hand gripped your wrist and seemed to pluck you out of mid-air.

Your feet hit ice before you could even comprehend what had occurred. Loki’s hand was still around your wrist as he watched the understanding unfurl on your face.   
“Foolish woman,” he said, but a small smirk on his face suggested he perhaps didn’t quite mean it entirely. “So what have you brought me?” He said as he removed his hand and turned on his heel. No prizes for guessing where he was headed.

Part of you was tempted to run ahead of him and steal his window seat – just to see what would happen – but you wagered that such an action would not end well for you.

* * *

Similarly to the day before, much of the encounter was spent in silence. However, it was made less awkward by the fact that Loki was eating more. At first, he just picked and nibbled, but when you offered him a whole slice of bread with jam he felt obligated to accept and eat the whole thing.

“I noticed yesterday that you have a fine collection of books in the other room.”  
“I too noticed yesterday that you seem keen on instigating conversation,” Loki replied bitterly. “Do you intend on sustaining that activity?”  
“So long as it continues to irritate you, yes.”

Loki smirked again.   
“The collection of books are my only possession in this place. They provided much entertainment to me when I first arrived here, though very little after the 100th time I’d read them all.” You made a mental note of the way that he described his experience in the tower. How long had he spent here?

He broke his gaze with the outside world for a minute to look at you.   
“It is my turn to ask now.”  
“I didn’t realise we were playing that game,” you snickered as you pulled a chunk of bread from the loaf in your hand. It still smelled like it warm and fresh out of the oven.   
“I’m always playing games.”  
“And somehow I’m not surprised.”

Loki shocked you by not only looking at you, but turning around to face you. Had he not meant so little to you, you might’ve been flattered.   
“I wish to know what occurred that first brought you to my Tower.”  
“A justified curiosity…” you sighed, recounting what had happened that day. “It was… unnerving, to say the least.”

Leaving out no detail, you explained everything that happened on that first fateful day – from the weather that morning, to the colour of the horse’s bridle.   
“Extraordinary. So you almost died in pursuit… of books.”  
“It was far more disconcerting when I was running for my life, I assure you.”

Loki rolled his eyes.   
“I jest but… I am deeply sorry that such trauma happened to you.”

To say you were taken aback was an understatement.   
“I… thank you.”  
“Think nothing of it. I am sorry you had to experience that – it would’ve saved us all a great deal of hassle had you just stayed inside that day.” You rolled your eyes and grunted. Why would you have expected anything more of him?

“After all,” he said, standing and beckoning you to follow him with his index, “if it is palace books you seek, I have plenty here that should satiate you.”  
“You have palace books here?” You gasped. Loki smirked. Wrapped around his finger, you were.   
“I have a few, yes. No doubt many new titles for you, if your library is as abysmal as your village sounds.”

Stood in front of the bookshelf, Loki watched your expression as he pointed with his smallest finger to the novels that had once adorned shelves in the Grand Library of Asgard. For every new book he pointed out, you exclaimed most appreciatively and held the book in your hands, flicking through the pages and inhaling. This was it; you decided. This was what true love felt like: old parchment.

“And I believe that is the last palace book to my name. I treasure them all, however, so please return them when you’re finished with them.”  
“You’re… lending them to me?”

Loki shrugged and tried to look insouciant, but failed to hide the shine in his eyes.   
“I have read them as many times as I am going to. It’s about time they were read again with different eyes.” You bit your lip and looked at the yellowing pages between your fingers.   
“But where on earth did you even get palace books?” You asked, engrossed in the current chapter you were perusing. Loki’s face fell, unbeknownst to you, and he tugged at the hem of his sleeve.   
“That is… for me to know.”

You looked at him with one eyebrow raised.   
“Did you steal them?” Loki chuckled at your bluntness.   
“Not quite.”  
“Mr Loki, sir, are you a criminal?”

That had apparently been the wrong thing to ask. Immediately, Loki became cold once more and strode back to the main room. You struggled to keep up.   
“Are they not better under my name? Is it doing any harm for me to have those books, to call them mine? With me they have a use, a purpose! They should be glad that I considered them worthy of my time,” he growled, a choleric twinkle in his eye.   
“I- I didn’t realise you felt so strongly about books.”

“What? I’m talking about the Midgardia-” Loki stilled his tongue when he heard himself. He could still feel the rage in his belly, stirring up emotions he had not felt in a long time. Suddenly quivering, he fell back into his window seat and gripped the edges fiercely. That was… unprecedented. Even in the short time that you’d known him, you could never have imagined him suffering an outburst like that.

You toyed with the soft edge of the book you were now cradling and stared at your feet for a moment. Loki continued to look shocked for a minute, until he eventually receded back into his usual position, even more curled up than usual.  _Serves me right,_ he thought.  _I break routine and this is how I’m repaid._ He looked positively defeated.

“Well, if…” you cleared your throat, “if they mean that much to you, I won’t burn this one when I’m done with it.”

Loki smiled at first. It was strange, and made him look… oddly youthful. His eyes grew lines around them begin to darken as he started to laugh. The whole thing reminded you of someone unrolling a carpet that had been stored in a dusty old attic for 100 years. Crusty, but… satisfying to see.  
“Don’t do that,” you pleaded, though he continued to chuckle. “It’s weird to see you laugh. You’re supposed to be mean and melancholy.”

Eventually, he reduced his to a gentle hum.   
“My apologies,” he said. “I’ll attempted to uphold my disdain.”  
“I’d appreciate it,” you smiled as you lowered yourself to the floor once more.

You’d barely had a chance to continue reading before you heard the sound of ice crackling next to you. The ice-encrusted chair was identical to that which Loki had spawned at your bedside. It was true; the Tower responded to him. Once it had finished growing, he lowered his hand and gestured to the seat instead.   
“Watching you sit there is bothersome. You’re dirtying the floor,” he said with a dull expression that was contradicted by kind eyes.

“That’s better,” you smirked as you continued to read in your newly formed furniture.

* * *

The next day, Loki saw you off from the top of the staircase.   
“I don’t doubt you will have finished that book by tomorrow,” he said.   
“Yes, I expect I shall read it all tonight.” He scoffed.   
“It surprises me little that you should have nothing better to do.” You shook your head with a smile. Loki even let the edges of his mouth curl upwards.

“Does that mean… I might see you tomorrow?” he asked. You tilted your head.   
“I expect so, yes. After all, I will need to return your property. Only one of us is a thief.”

Loki frowned and you took pleasure in knowing that he still could be irritated. You weren’t about to be taken in by his seemingly more amiable demeanour.   
“Good day, sir,” you said with a smile as you stepped down the staircase for yet another time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart by [@misakiblossom](https://misakiblossom.tumblr.com/post/169341673858/littlemisssyreid-so-ive-seen-some-of-the-really):  
>   
> 


	9. Chapter 9

Jarle had recently been contracted to redesign the large spire that marked the centre of the marketplace. It was a huge deal, even for the village’s best architect. With a pad in hand and a pencil behind his ear, he stood at the town’s border, where city met forest, humming quietly to himself as he looked up at the stretching spire. He had big ideas.

His sketching was only interrupted by the sound of something moving in the brush behind him. You burst from the thicket with a twig or two in your hair – as per usual – and froze when you spotted him.   
“Should I ask?” He smirked, having evidently recovered from his previous fright.   
“Would you believe me if I said I was foraging?”  
“Not at all.”

Against the setting sun, the two of you walked home arm in arm. Jarle explained in great detail his plans for the spire, and eventually the rest of the marketplace. Eventually, he began to press for details about where you’d begun to regularly disappear to. Luckily, a rightly-worded question about the best kind of building material set him up talking for the rest of the journey home.

You wanted to keep Loki’s identity a secret for your own personal gain. You liked the idea of having a sanctuary, somewhere to escape the madness of the village in – even if it meant enduring the company of an equally maddening person.

Jarle lingered at the doorway for a moment, even after you’d stepped indoors.  
“What is it?” You sighed with a smile. You’d known him long enough; you knew him too well.   
“Well, you’re a really good listener. You take an interest in my ideas.” You didn’t know what to say to that. “I was wondering if you’d consider coming with me to survey the marketplace tomorrow. I could show you what I’ve got planned – and you could tell me if it’s a good idea or not.”

Scratching the back of your neck, you leaned against the doorframe.   
“I don’t know, Jarle,” you sighed.  
“I value your opinion, (y/n). I don’t want to bring just anybody along.”  
“Mm, I’m getting that. It’s just that I’m going out again.”  
“To this place that you won’t speak of? What place is so fantastic that you can waste days at a time there, but not spill a drop of it’s location?! I do wonder if it even exists.”

“It exists,” you cried indignantly. Jarle chuckled at your pout.   
“Alright, alright, I believe you.”

At the sound of your outburst, your father entered the main room and saw you lingering at the door.   
“You’re home, I see,” he sniffed. You rolled your eyes. Sensing the tension, Jarle became eager to leave – but not without a definitive answer. He took your hand and implored you once more. It was clear that he didn’t intend to let up so you reluctantly agreed. In your head, you only intended to stay for an hour or two, so you’d still have time to reach the tower. Ecstatic with your reply, Jarle kissed your hand and bowed. You quickly pulled away but he paid little attention to your reservations.

Jarle bowed his head to your father and took his leave. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t take you long to finish Loki’s book. Shutting the door to your father’s mithering (he’d become especially grumpy since the day you’d gone missing), you settled onto your bed and pried apart the book, beholding the wondrous scent of the aging pages as the lamplight warmed them.

The conclusion came too soon, as was always the way. You finished the tale satisfied, but desperate for more. There would be much to discuss with Loki about the contents (provided you could convince him to open up), and if memory served, there was a sequel somewhere in his extensive collection.

You were pried from your thoughts by a sharp knock on your bedroom door. Evidently, your father was in a good mood for now.  
“Jarle has come calling for you, chicken,” he warbled.

You pulled a cloak over your clothes and stepped into the main room. Immediately, your father began dusting off your shoulders, adjusting loose strands of your hair, and moving the folds of your clothes.   
“Be sure to listen to him, be polite, and smile lots.”  
“I beg your pardon?”

Without answering any such questions, your father ushered you out of the door. Unfortunately, he didn’t care how fast that was. Your toe caught itself on a loose patch of soil just outside the door, sending you careering forward. Jarle caught you and pulled you close before you could fall any further.   
“Have fun, kids!” Your father waved with a grin as he shut the door.

“What was that about?” You grunted as you stood upright and began dusting yourself off.   
“Search me,” Jarle stammered, checking you over.   
“Oh well,” you huffed. “No damage done. Just some ruffled clothing.”  
“I would not like to be in his shoes when you get home,” Jarle chuckled.   
“He will certainly receive some scathing questions regarding his behaviour.”

“Shall we?” He asked with a smile, offering you his arm.

* * *

 

The market bustled with people and their conversations. The vendors put in extra effort to make their voices heard.   
“Lovely fish over here folks. Cheap and tasty! Perfect for kids’ dinner table.”  
“Get your fruit here! Best fruit in all of Asgard, ladies and gents. Two crates for 1 gold!”  
“Pastries! Fine, Asgardian pastries! Direct from the capital!”

Quick as a whip, Jarle fought his way to the pastry stand and returned with two iced buns. He took your hand and pulled you towards the spire in the centre.

The spire was a square-based pyramid, narrow in width and length, but as tall as any tree you’d ever climbed. It was built of white marble and stood as a shimmering reminder of the town’s origins. At its base was a shallow pool that the children would throw their pocket money into as a way of paying their respects to their ancestors. Every coin carried a wish. Sunlight crashed into the pool, brightening the bronze that lay at the base and making the water sparkle.

The market was circular in shape, surrounding the pool’s stone border. Circles of stalls went back rows and rows, making you think that the marketplace would look like a ripple of water from above.

Jarle led you to the pool’s edge, where you sat with your newly acquired breakfast as he began to talk.   
“I did a little digging on this place.”  
“Yeah?”  
“Yeah. Followed your example and went to the library. This spire and pool was here long before this town was. See those four little stone arrows on the floor around us? There are tales that before our civilisation existed, people would fly about on winged horses, and this spire was made as a sort of… compass that could be seen from above.”

You looked at the small marble triangle underneath your feet and saw that somebody had etched the letter ‘W’ into it.   
“When civilisation began to explore and branch out, the pool was constructed around it. A watering hole for people on foot as well as a place to navigate from. Some of our ancestors set up shop here, selling their wares to travellers. Eventually, it stuck and the marketplace began, and from there our homes were built, always expanding around the market.”

“That’s… really interesting, Jarle,” you smiled, kicking off your shoes and swivelling around to dip your feet into the cool water.   
“I thought so too – and I figured that if I didn’t know that, not many others would. I want to incorporate that history into the new design. I’ll be making contemporary changes but also paying homage to our beginnings.”  
“I like that idea.”

You talked a little more about Jarle’s intentions before deciding to peruse the market together. You stopped at the greengrocer’s stand, where the owner shook your hand profusely upon spotting you.   
“You did me a service, lass,” he smiled after releasing you. “That basket of fruits you brought me went down a treat. I ain’t never seen nothing like ‘em, and neither had the customers. They’d have sold their left foot to try one, I reckon. I’ve had enough spare cash from those sales that I bought in some foreign produce. My profits have never been higher!”  
“I’m… glad I could help,” you stammered with a smile.

You knew this man’s face. He’d once been overheard complaining to his wife that you served no purpose other than watching children, that you’d be better off being sent to the capital’s palace to manage poultry so you’d at least be out of their hair. Nice to see he’d had a sudden change of heart…

After moving on, Jarle could hold his tongue no longer.   
“You brought him fruit then?”  
“Yes. It was only a couple of days ago, though. I could never have imagined that he’d have sold it all by now.”  
“So you’ve taken to foraging then?” He asked, leaning over the clothing stall to examine the clothwork. You passed a gold coin from your cloak pocket to the woman at the stall and picked up a soft piece of emerald cloth.

“I wouldn’t say I’ve taken to it, no. But my little… journeys have provided me ample opportunity to practice it.”  
“You know I am obligated to ask again.”   
“Of course you are. That doesn’t mean I’m obligated to provide an answer.”

Jarle sighed deeply and smiled at you.   
“Perhaps if foraging isn’t to your taste, that your father’s profession might suit. Whatever you’re disappearing to do has improved your stamina noticeably. Your body seems leaner if you ask me,” he said, folding his arms.

“You’ve been noticing my body, have you, Jarle?” You asked, laughing as he blushed. “Besides, I’m not taking to any profession – certainly not my father’s. My little explorative escapades change nothing.”

Jarle took your arm once more and led you leisurely back towards the centre of the market.   
“Perhaps you can pioneer something new then,” he said casually. You looked up at him with a raised eyebrow.   
“What are you suggesting?”

“I’m suggesting,” he said, tapping his chin with his finger, “that you’re clearly not cut out for the roles we’ve patented in our little town.”  
“I’d agree with that, but I’m still a little lost on what you’re implying.”

“If I’ve learnt anything from re-designing this spire, it’s that you can make something modern without negating history. The people here are frightened of change – they even resent it – but I suspect that your little adventures could change their minds.”  
“Jarle…”   
“No, think about it,” Jarle said, taking both of your hands. “Your adventures are taking you places that our foragers just don’t go. Nobody else has explored those areas either; we’d be at the forefront of new-age agriculture.  You could lead expeditions for new flora and fauna to sell to the other villages – an innovator! That’s your calling, that’s what you are; a late-bloomer, sure, but you’ve found your use to this town and you’ll have respect.”

Jarle’s ideas were moving faster than yours; it was all a bit much to take in. A late-bloomer? Is that what he’d called you? How were you supposed to react to that? You didn’t get much space to consider that as Jarle was still planning.   
“I remember you told me once that you liked mapping things, right? I’ll talk to my blueprint guy – he’s bound to have some spare parchment. I’ll get you a roll or two and then you can map out hotspots.”

“Jarle, just slow down a minute,” you said, looking at the floor.   
“I can’t,” he beamed, “I’m on a roll! Listen, I’ll go find my blueprint guy and I’ll bring the parchment by your father’s house once I’ve got it.” Turning on his heel, Jarle began to speed away, leaving you in the centre of the marketplace, until he seemingly remembered something and sped back to your side.

Jarle leant in and planted a chaste kiss on your cheek before running off once more.   
“I’ll see you later, (y/n)!” He yelled over his shoulder.


	10. Chapter 10

The journey to the tower provided you all the time you needed for consideration and deep thought. Jarle’s proposition was… scary, to put it mildly. Lead the village? You’d never led anything! Apart from that time you took the village children on a scavenger hunt last year. Somehow you didn’t think that a team of foragers would hold you in quite as much admiration as a band of 6 year olds. An amusing thought, nonetheless.

So caught up in your thoughts were you that your travel pace had slowed to that of a leisurely stroll. The setting sun caught you out and egged you forward. ‘Make haste’, it said, waving warmly from behind the horizon, ‘make haste!’ You reached the tower as dusk greeted the lands. The cool evening air was soon forgotten as you began the strenuous climb upwards. Did the tower get taller every time you scaled it?

“I… apologise…” You panted as you reached the summit, “for my tardiness… but… I had reasons.” Loki didn’t move from his window seat, remaining fixated on the outside world. Nothing new there.  
“Forgive my bluntness, but I shouldn’t care whether I am graced with your presence or not.”

You rolled your eyes – and smiled. Despite how irritating he was, Loki was becoming a constant in your life that you were grateful for. Some regularity amongst the disorder of your domestic life. Following Jarle’s advice would undoubtedly reduce the frequency of this acquaintance. You’d admit the thought was… disconcerting.

Having realised you were staring at him, you were grateful to discover that Loki was especially concentrated on the window today. It was almost dusk; what could he be so interested in?  
“What’re you looking at?” You asked, as you propped open the door with your basket. Your exercise always made the room’s air feel stuffy. Loki never opened the windows. God forbid a tower of ice get too cold.   
“I… know not what you mean. I’m always at this window.”  
“Well, I know that but you’re never this… _intense_.”

Loki did not offer a response to this. You found the activity of watching him more amusing than trying to discover what exactly had enraptured him. It was only when you saw his eyes widen slightly, and a gentle amber glow appear in his pupils, that you followed his focus.

“Come,” he whispered, beckoning you closer. His eyes could not part with the frosted glass. Slipping your hand into that which was offered, Loki pulled you to his side and slipped an arm around your waist. He held you against him and pointed with his gaze at the inky sky.

Amidst the darkness was a single, orange orb, rising slowly and steadily through the night. With your body pressed against his, you were close enough to hear Loki’s breath hitch in his throat. Admittedly your own lungs tightened when the one lantern was joined by a twin, then a triplet, then a quadruplet. Eventually, the stars themselves were hidden by a cloud of lanterns that swum into the air like swirling orange milk in a very black cup of tea. Though incredibly distant, the spectacle was magical.

“What is-”  
“I couldn’t say,” Loki replied, releasing his hold on your hips so that you could stand upright once again. “The people in the capital release them every year, but I couldn’t tell you what for.”

You shook your head and smiled quaintly. Loki was completely mesmerised by the sight, even resting his head on the window sill and letting out a contented sight. Even if you considered Jarle’s idea, there was no way you could let it interfere with this. The puzzle of Loki was just too interesting for you to give up without a resolution. The man was a living mystery – one you intended to solve.

You pulled out the contents of your basket and laid them out at the base of Loki’s window seat. Although your personal ice-chair was still available in the centre of the room, you felt like sitting with your companion for once. The opportunity of his being fascinated with something else was not to be passed up. With a new book in hand, you leaned back against the window seat and stretched your legs out on the floor. Loki peered over when he heard you settle, surprised to see the top of your head in line with his waist.

You placed a grape in your mouth and turned the page of your book. Sensing that you were being watched, you picked up a pastry and held it above your head. Loki smirked and chuckled only to himself. He accepted the pastry and turned away once more.

Never had it occurred to him before that he might enjoy the company of someone besides himself. Perhaps it was the fact that you were so stubbornly insistent on spending time with him; perhaps it was that you were – contrary to how he’d described you to your face – quiet and calm.

In that moment, Loki took a chance. He settled himself into his window seat, and allowed himself to enjoy your company. He shared your food, he made soft conversation when it suited, and he decided to relax despite your proximity. It wasn’t a wholly terrible experience, he realised. He could quite happily have spent many an hour this way – watching his lanterns, making his way through tasty food, and listening to you shuffle every now and then as you read silently to yourself. It was… pleasant. For the first time in a long time, Loki found himself feeling contented.

“I see you are almost finished,” Loki mused as the lanterns began to thin out. You licked your finger and turned the page.   
“It is better than its predecessor by far.”  
“Surely not,” Loki scoffed. “The first book was infinitely superior to its sequel.”

After a momentary pause, you shuffled around to look up at him, one eyebrow cocked above its kin.   
“You should not say things like that so callously. One might think you actually intend to have a conversation with me about a common interest.” Loki smirked.   
“Perhaps I _am_ attempting to engage in such pleasantries. You should not know if I were.”  
“Well, do you want to discuss the book, Loki?” You smiled wryly.   
“No, I do not.”  
“As I thought,” you nodded once, turning back around and leaning against the window seat once more. Seeing the back of your head again caused the strangest of feelings to occur within him; he had the sudden urge to touch you. Pat your head, pet your hair. You continued talking, oblivious to the desires he was dismissing. “I may not know when you do wish to converse, but I can certainly tell when you don’t want to.”

Loki rolled his shoulders and drew in a breath.   
“Did it ever occur to you that I simply prefer more rousing topics of conversation?”

This was… unprecedented. Was Loki finally opening up? Had the lanterns been enough to soften his cold demeanour?  
“It never occurred to me, no,” you said, closing your book with timidity. “I always assumed it was the participant of the conversation that was the problem, as opposed to the discussion’s contents.” Placing the book down on the floor, you shuffled around to look up at him. The sudden attention that he was being given made Loki reluctant to continue taking chances with you. However, he was nothing if not stubborn. He persisted.

“You mentioned that your village believes you are incapable and pathetic. That, to me, is a most interesting topic.” You frowned. It wasn’t what you’d had in mind but you were nothing if not stubborn. Besides, you were finally able to discuss this without humiliating yourself.   
“Perhaps,” you smirked, crossing your legs and leaning your elbows on your knees, “perhaps not. Do you remember the Jarle I mentioned?”  
“Vaguely. He seemed wholly unimportant.”  
“Nevertheless, he’s responsible for helping me find purpose in the village.”

Loki’s pulse became nervously quick.   
“I find that difficult to believe,” he jested.   
“Joke all you will, he’s been undoubtedly clever as of late. When he’d suggested it initially I’d been quite opposed to the idea. However, I’ve been thinking about it all evening – on the walk here, and whilst I’ve been reading – and it mightn’t be such a bad idea after all.”

Listening to you gush over Jarle’s scheme, and how your visits to him had provided the skills to spur you on, made Loki’s stomach twist. This was hardly a conversation he was enjoying; Loki had single-handedly provided you with the opportunity to think aloud – and dismiss – all your reservations. There was a good chance that his poor manners had also incited you to appreciate the idea out of spite. He watched you pick apart the particulars and come to the realisation before his very eyes that it was overall a good idea. Were you going to leave?  
“I mean, can’t you just imagine it?” You smiled with hope practically tearing in your eyes, “I could do what I’m good at, things nobody else wants to do, and I’d actually be appreciated for it too. The thought is… Well, it’s incredible. Don’t you think?”

A bitter taste simmered on Loki’s tongue. He scrunched up his nose.   
“Incredible, yes,” he snapped scornfully, “and just think! Serving a purpose to your measly little village might actually give your father a shred of a reason to be proud of you. Finally, he’ll be able to talk to you like a human being again.”

Your mouth fell open and all words were stolen from you. You’d not seen that coming. Apparently to have hoped he would be happy for you was too farfetched of a notion. Loki pulled his knees up to his chin and wrapped his arms around his legs. The lanterns were gone now. He’d missed them.

Loki resented the chance he’d taken in enjoying your company. He wouldn’t be taking another any time soon, he scolded himself. Loki snatched his chance back. This time, he’d hold it close and never let it get away from him again.


	11. Chapter 11

“Are you going to be nicer to me today?” You asked, chewing the inside of your lip.

Loki’s attention was fixated in its usual direction. His mind had been racing since the day prior. After his offish comment, you’d refused to speak to him for the remainder of the night, leaving early in the morning the next day. It was a surprise that you’d even returned. Why exactly were you so intent on accompanying him? He was hardly polite to you. If he wasn’t in such a sour mood, Loki might have appreciated your loyalty. Forgiveness was not a trait he was accustomed to encountering – neither in himself or anyone else.

Just for today though, he thought. Just for today, I’ll forgive myself and then maybe she will.

“What of it? What if I decide I shall not watch my tongue?”   
“Then I’ll eat this picnic by myself on the journey home.”

Loki’s eyebrow raised.   
“You brought a picnic?”

You smirked and stepped inside, propping the door open with your basket again.   
“I thought that might get your attention.” You dug your hand into the corner of the hamper, wicker wood scratching lightly at your hand. The emerald cloth you’d bought from the market the other day unrolled with ease, dust billowing upwards as it unrolled mid-air.   
“I only bought it the other day… That dust is a bit worrisome.” Loki bit back a smile.

Stomping out wrinkles with your foot, you began to lay out foods he’d not seen before.   
“Apparently these pastries are imported from the capital. I don’t know how true that is but they’re still yummy. I had an iced bun the other day with… Well, I had an iced bun. It was nice.”  
“The market is branching out?” Loki asked. You were surprised that he was paying you any mind. You thought he’d still be bitter.

When you noticed him turning around in his seat, and standing up, you half expected moths to fly out from under his clothing or that his joints would creak like old wood. It was unnerving to see him up and moving.   
“Where am I permitted to sit?” He asked, brushing down his clothing. He’d never once been dressed in anything other than that which he’d worn on the first day you met. Loose grey trousers and an emerald shirt. You pointed, stunned into silence, and Loki lowered himself onto the corner of the blanket and sat cross-legged.

Afterwards, you spread the foods out between the two of you and declared that he could finally eat.   
“I feel infantile, eating this way.”   
“I’ve read somewhere that some Midgardian civilisations used to eat on the floor like this,” you mused as you poured tea from a large flask and handed a teacup to Loki. “Only they had pillows to lean against. I wasn’t about to carry pillows all the way here.”  
“Isn’t that the same civilisation that used feathers to induce vomiting so they could keep eating after being satiated?”  
“I didn’t say Roman picnics were perfect.” Loki hummed amusedly as he drank.

You chewed nervously on an apple for a while, wondering whether or not to explain yourself. Did he deserve it? No. Was it eating you up inside anyway? Yes.   
“I wasn’t going to bring all of this stuff today, but I wanted to apologise.” Loki paused, mid-sip, and glared at the herb-infused drink. “Although you did so in your usual crass manner, you did attempt to engage in conversation with me. It was a bold step for you and I abused the gesture, bragging only about my future and making the exchange one-sided.”

“What are you doing?” Loki asked, frowning and placing his cup down.   
“I’m… trying to apologise,” you said, looking away. “Your words hurt but they weren’t unwarranted. I pushed you too far. Took the conversation over when I should’ve been more forgiving.”

Loki put his teacup down curtly and huffed. He hated that you were putting him through this.   
“You are wrong,” he said bluntly, cutting you off before you could disagree. “You think that you are being gracious, but you are not. You are acting selfishly and making a fool of yourself simultaneously. My words yesterday were my own. They were spiteful and vindictive but I take responsibility for what I said – and how wrong they were. There was no substance behind them at all, I assure you. However, it was not you who incited them. It was I. For that, you… _you_ have _my_ apologies.”

After he’d finished speaking, Loki continued to eat and drink as if nothing was different. As if he hadn’t just completely acted out of character. You knew that drawing attention to it would worsen the situation so you nodded silently and returned to your tea.

Loki felt a little perturbed. It was one thing to feel guilty for how he’d behaved – but to feel obligated to apologise? You’d sunk to a new low in making him commit such an act. Luckily for you, he was still in a forgiving mood.

The two of you sat on your picnic cloth as you slowly ate. Conversation flowed much better this time around. The two of you finally got around to discussing the last book you’d read. It was surprising to neither of you that your opinions differed; luckily the conversation concluded with both parties agreeing to disagree. Loki even recommended your next read.   
“If you think that pitiful excuse for a novel was any good, you’ll enjoy a book that is _actually_ worthy of being called literature.”  
“I don’t know if I should trust your judgement if you think that the first book was so awful.”

Eventually the food was near-depleted and the sun had set. You decided to turn in and stood up.   
“Whatever is left is yours,” you said as you stretched. “I’m going to retire.”

As Loki made to stand up and return to his window seat, you felt a tickle in your throat. Dust. Remembering the fog of particulates you’d released when you’d unravelled your picnic cloth, you decided it would be better to get the air circulating. You knelt on the newly vacated window seat as you jostled the window latch and pushed the window wide open.

When you turned around, Loki’s eyes were on you, alight with all colour of emotions.   
“Get out,” he growled. You were taken aback. What harm could opening the window have possibly – “I said, _get out_.”

Before you had a chance to defend yourself, Loki lurched forward and grabbed your arm, pulling you from his seat and dragging you across the room. Your feet were unable to keep up with the speed at which he hauled you to the doorway. The force with which he slammed it shut behind you threatened to shatter it. You’d been thrown to the floor at the top of the staircase, cold, confused, and hurt.

Loki dropped into his window seat and stared out of the now open window. For the first time in years he felt a gentle night breeze caress his skin. He felt fresh air. The sensation was enough to pull tears from his eyes. Immediately, in his sorrowful state, he felt remorse at throwing you out. Once again he’d acted hastily – and this time a picnic would not fix it.

The hinges on the window held steady as the wind picked up, despite how little practice they’d had against the elements. Loki could hear an owl cooing. He could see the stars clearer than ever before. He could taste salt in the air, condensation from his tower adding moisture to it.

He shouldn’t have gotten mad at you. He knew that. To throw you out was… harsh. But seeing you open that window – something so trivial – meant more than he could explain to you. Watching you do what he’d never be able to… It felt like a knife wound to his gut.

Peering out of the window, he saw your tiny form step out of the tower’s base. You didn’t look up at him. He wondered if you knew he was watching. He wondered if you even cared. You crossed the moonlit grass at the base of the tower, heading across the clearing at speed for the woods. It was dark out. It wasn’t safe for you to be going home now. This was his doing!

Loki wanted to call you back, to beg you to stay just one more night so at least you’d be safe to leave. He didn’t know how he’d feel if you were attacked.

By wolves, for example.

They were dark as midnight, but even from his current distance he could see the hungry glint in their eyes. Careening to a halt, you held out your hands to steady yourself, and also as a futile attempt to placate the animals. You began stepping backwards cautiously, hoping that you could begin to make a break for it in the other direction. ‘Foolish girl’, Loki thought before abandoning all rationale. Loki leaned out the window, far more than was safe, no doubt, and cast his hand forward.

The biggest wolf felt a pain in its backside and yelped. You blinked. The wolf seemed as surprised as you were. Loki aimed again and let his magic do the rest. For once his abilities’ excitement was useful. The second wolf also felt a sting in his posterior, which then began to smoke. Loki felt himself tiring. Despite his attempts, the wolves were not yet dissuaded, utilising your shock to surround you instead.

In one last futile attempt to defend you, Loki leaned further still out of the window and cast another spell. It felt as though the spell had hooks attached to it, hooks that sunk into his muscles and raked across them as it swum through his cells and sprung from the end of his fingers. Had it been his choice, he’d have cast spells all night. However, his energy had drained fast. His vision drowned in darkness and Loki’s unconscious form slumped over the windowsill, hand still poised for defensive fire.


	12. Chapter 12

Loki’s muscles felt like lead. Everywhere from the roots of his head to the tips of his toes was heavy with fatigue and a voice in his head told him to roll over and go back to sleep.

However, the same voice outside of his head swore at him.

“Get up,” you snapped. “I know the difference between REM and waking up. I see you.” Loki pried one eyelid open and glared fiercely at you. You looked equally as pleased to see him. Judging by how bright the room was, the night had long since passed him by. Loki couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so deeply…

“What… happened…” He said groggily, sitting up. Somehow he’d made it from the window seat to the bed, where he felt something akin to a pillow behind him. Noticing him struggling, you reached behind his head and pulled out the ‘pillow’: your rolled-up picnic blanket. You’d also draped his blanket and your cloak over him. Overkill, but appreciated.

“Last time I tried to apologise for something that wasn’t my fault, you told me off, so I think I’ll remain pissed at you for now.”

“I suppose I owe you an explanation.”  
“It would be nice, yes,” you smiled coldly.  

Loki examined your body language and felt a smidgeon of guilt pooling in his stomach. He’d done this, and he was painfully aware of that fact. You were sat on the ice-chair next to the bed, one leg over the other and the elevated foot tapping in mid-air. Evidently pissed was an understatement.

The second time he attempted to adjust his seating, he received no help. You waited patiently, though in growing earnest, for him to begin making amends for his behaviour. He almost seemed reluctant, and it did cross your mind that he was tampering with the bedding just for the sake of stalling. Unfortunately for him, you had all the time in the world.

“I… I don’t know where to begin.”  
“If it helps, I can interrogate you,” you said. He raised an eyebrow amusedly.  
“Begin with a question, and I’ll answer it.”

You narrowed your eyes. Could you trust him to tell the truth?   
“You… You’ve had several outbursts. Are they connected?”  
“In part. They are all consequence of my being imprisoned here.”  
“You’re… properly imprisoned then.”

Loki sighed. Here goes nothing!  
“I… don’t doubt that it hasn’t escaped your notice. I am not fond of this place. Not in the slightest. It has been my hell for years that I have lost track of counting – quite literally. I could scratch the days into the walls and by the next morning, the ice will have healed.”  
“You talk of this place like it’s a living thing, that the ice heals,” you said, leaning back. So far you were content with his answers.   
“To make that assumption would not be far wrong. The witch who cursed me to stay here tied me to it. The tower responds to me, provided I am inside. Any attempts to leave are punished. All doors lead out, and…”

“None of the windows open,” you sighed, realising just why you’d incited Loki’s ire. It didn’t excuse it, but at least you could understand it.

“I know the terms of my imprisonment, but they are…” Loki looked at you gravely. “They are impossible to achieve, I assure you. Until I am blessed with some sort of miracle upon my doorstep, I am stuck in this accursed place.”  
“Instead, you got me on your doorstep,” you chuckled. Loki couldn’t bring himself to laugh at this. The thought set his mind in motion on paths he had been ignoring.

You didn’t want to pry – after all – you’d been told everything you _needed_ to know – but there was still one thing bugging you.   
“What could you have possibly done to deserve this? Why were you put in here?”

“My father is… was a cruel man. I assume he is long gone now, but he seemed to think I would be better in here than in my previous cell. I think that he just couldn’t bare the shame of me in his house.”  
“But… But what did you _do_?”

Loki looked into your eye. It was no long aflame with rage. Now it yearned for truth, sodden with sorrow and pity, all for him. It was soothing his ego undoubtedly, but also making him feel uncomfortable. He knew deep down that he was undeserving of your sympathy.   
“I… committed a crime - or so they tell me.”

“But you won’t tell me what crime?” You asked with a sigh.   
“Perhaps when you’re older.”

You let your head drop.   
“I see.”  
“I hope this does not change your opinion of me,” Loki said, half joking.

With a gentle and amused laugh, you sighed.   
“I _have_ no opinion of you, Loki, neither good nor bad. I am just as undecided about you as before, which I suppose means it has not changed.”  
“Then I am relieved. I… owe you an apology for my outbursts, not that I expect you to accept it. It means a lot to me that you are even still here.”

“You’re… important to me,” you sighed, looking less than pleased at having to admit it. “Though I can’t quite explain why yet. Just know I’ll always be here.” When you stood up to leave the room, Loki reached out and grabbed your arm. He was still weak, but insisted that you hear everything he wished to say.   
“I mean it,” he groaned. You froze. “I genuinely do not wish harm upon you. You are… also important to me.”

You rolled your eyes and smiled.   
“Get some rest.”

* * *

 

Loki peered out of the window you’d left open by the window seat you’d helped him back to. You were placing the last brick back into the tower base. When you looked up and waved, he tentatively waved back. Oddly enough, he felt lighter having told you about his past. He’d been denying it for so long, hiding it from his conscience, that it’s emancipation was… refreshing.

Eventually, you disappeared into the woods. Loki sighed. He cast his mind back to the day that he first met you and chuckled. A miracle on his doorstep indeed. Look how far you’d both come… The stars were just beginning to appear in the evening sky, and one in particular stuck out from behind the thin clouds. Large. Proud. Gloating.

“You must think of yourself so highly,” Loki growled, looking up at the star. “You don’t think I see what this is? What _she_ is? Just another of your twisted ploys to toy with and torment me. Well, you shall not have the satisfaction, father. I swear that I shall not be fooled, no matter how enticingly close I come. I do not intend to fall for someone who can leave. Because they do leave. They do leave, and eventually, they stop coming back…”


	13. Chapter 13

After that day, you returned to the tower on a regular basis. It was like nothing had ever happened, and because of that, Loki was careful to watch his temper. He didn’t engage in much conversation but minded his manners when he did. He spoke slowly, and calmly, and for once used his brain for something other than scheming. It was like this for 2 weeks.

As well as inside, Loki was beginning to show means of improvement on the outside too. No more did he bear lines on his face, or hollow cheeks. The shadows around his eyes had disappeared to. It was obvious now that though the Tower did sustain him, it didn’t keep him fit and healthy. You’d done that.

You hadn’t brought as much food today, on account of having something else to carry. You pulled out the blade, displayed it, and Loki raised an eyebrow.  
“I’ll admit,” he said, “I’m surprised it took you this long. Most people want me dead far sooner in their acquaintance with me.”

With a smirk, you dropped the basket of tools to the ground.  
“You’re unclean,” you muttered, rummaging around in the basket. Loki frowned.  
“Truly, you’re too kind to me.”  
“Oh, shush, I’m just trying to help. I’ve brought my father’s shaving kit.”

Loki watched you return the blade to the basket, instead beginning to search your things for something else. After a while, the expression on your face changed. Glee.  
“Found it! I found it,” you called with joy.

The robe was… actually very nice. It was a warm navy colour, flecks of gold stitching embellishing the long sleeves. A long dip in the collar created a v-neck to also bore gold. You held it aloft so that Loki could admire it, eventually pulling out the loose grey trousers that were intended to accompany it.  
“I picked up some more material from the market a while ago, and I’ve been working on this ever since.”

“It’s not… really my colour,” Loki said, scratching the back of his head. He didn’t know how to feel about your gift. He was appreciative, undoubtedly, but he was concerned what it meant.  
“I couldn’t give a rat’s ass if it’s not your colour. I’ve made you something, you’re going to at least try it on.”  
“What if it doesn’t fit?”  
“I’ve brought my sewing materials with me. I’ll make it fit.”

Loki smirked.  
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”  
“Not a chance. Go and bathe, then I’ll let you try it on.”

You spent the best part of the morning with pins in your mouth, sewing the waist of Loki’s trousers. He was also a lot shorter than you’d anticipated (not that you’d seen him standing often enough to gauge it), so you also spent time on your knees, rolling up the leg material. Once you were finished, however, it didn’t look half bad.

“What should I do with these?” Loki asked, picking up the ball of clothes he’d discarded onto the floor.  
“Oh I know just what to do with those, fret not,” you smiled, taking the clothes from him and tossing them promptly out of the window. Loki cried and jumped onto the window seat, peering outside and watching the material flutter down to the ground.

“Hopefully they’ll be of use to a homeless forest animal,” you sighed, wiping your hands on your skirt. You didn’t want to know how long those clothes had gone unwashed. “Or perhaps, a forest fire will claim them and do everybody a favour.”  
“Those were the only clothes I owned!” Loki exclaimed.  
“If you want them, figure out how to leave and go get them,” you smirked.

Despite how incredibly frustrated he was at your sudden authoritativeness, Loki admittedly felt very nice in his new clothing. They were well-made and comfortable, and despite it not being his usual palette, the blue suited him well enough.

“Now,” you said, placing your hands on your hips, “I’ve got my father’s shaving kit, pilfered from the wash room, if you’d care to use it.”  
“I… wouldn’t know how. I haven’t exactly had much practice in the last few years, and I’ll cut myself open before I remember.”  
“You’re really a lost cause sometimes, you know that, right?”  
“If I do know that, it’s only because you insist upon reminding me.”

* * *

Loki sat very still as you neared with the blade once more.  
“I’m not going to hurt you,” you whispered softly. “If I wanted to hurt you, you’d know about it, believe me.”

Loki grunted and let you near him. He was sat with open legs on the window seat, where you kneeled between them, closer than you’d ever been. You had a hand on his collarbone to steady yourself as you worked, paying careful attention to his cheekbone as you grazed over it. Whilst you were focused on him, he too was watching you, attentively admiring the concentration on your face as it emerged. Narrow, focused eyes, and a bitten lip.

You moved the hand from his collarbone and gripped his chin gently, turning his head so you had better access.  
“I… used to do this for my father… when a wood felling accident… broke his arm…”  
“And what is the verdict?” He replied, once you’d stilled your hand and began wiping the blade on your skirt’s apron. “Who has been the better client?”  
“Well, let me see,” you hummed, returning to your work. “You talk far less than my father does – he would always stop me and tell me what I was doing wrong. However, your bone structure is… very different. Shapely. Difficult. I can’t tell where your cheekbones start nor where they end. Though I appreciate the challenge of trying _not_ to slice your face open, I’d prefer not shaving anyone if I am permitted.”

Loki laughed and then resumed his former head position so that you could finish. It didn’t take long.  
“I think…” you said, moving Loki’s head around with your fingers on his chin, examining your handiwork, “I think I’m finished.” After Loki realised you couldn’t possibly be checking your work anymore – instead using the grasp on his chin to just wobble his head around – he grabbed your wrist and stilled you.  
“You’re not funny,” he smirked.  
“ _I’m_ laughing,” you giggled.

You packed up your tools, and sighed completely. The two of you leant back against your respective ends of the window seat and relaxed. You pulled your knees up and rested your chin on them, whilst Loki stretched out his legs so that his feet were either side of you. The change a week could make in your relationship was… remarkable.

Just when Loki considered beginning a conversation, you narrowed your eyes and huffed slightly.  
“What? What is it?” He asked.  
“I think I missed a spot.”

Shuffling between Loki’s legs once more, you took his chin into your hand again and tilted it, leaning in to examine the edge of Loki’s jaw. He could feel your breath on his skin, and the pulse on the ends of your fingertips; it was half the speed of his own. You grazed a finger along his jawline, trying to decide if the darkness you’d spotted was in fact a thin line of stubble or just a misplaced shadow.

It was then that you too began to realise the sudden proximity you shared. How quickly you pulled away! You cleared your throat and shook your head.  
“I think it was just a trick of the light,” you mumbled, packing away your blades. “I should go and clean these.”

When you stood and made for the next room, Loki leant back in the seat and ran a hand through his hair. He exhaled deeply, and looked to the sky.  
“Too close,” he whispered. “Much too close.”

* * *

You kept your head down all the way into the bedroom. Once the door was closed, you leant your head back against it and exhaled.  
“Too close,” you murmured, shaking your head gently as you thought about what had happened. A barrage of thoughts ran through your head that you were too sensible to entertain.

You clutched the box of shaving equipment to your chest and made for the wash room. The bookcase at the edge of the room stood tall and proud; your eyes wandered to its shelving as you passed it, wondering mindlessly which of its books you’d take next.

You reached the doorway to the bathroom – and froze. Was that…?

Taking another step in the opposite direction, you leant backwards and peered at the bookshelf again. It was… but why? Why cover that up? You reversed fully into the bedroom and changed direction, making your way tentatively across the room. Sure enough, when you peered behind the back of the bookshelf, it was there – clear as day.

A cupboard. Completely concealed by the bookshelf.

Looking over your shoulder at the closed door, you bit your lip and let your curiosity get the better of you. The bookshelf was surprisingly easy to move; it probably had something to do with the fact that it was on an ice floor. It slid like it was on butter until the set of square doors was completely visible.

The cupboard was at shoulder height and appeared to be elaborately crafted, with an intricate design on the doors that looked like Yggdrasil. You ran your fingers over the decoration and tilted your head. Why was this here? What did it hide?

Pushing in the centre of the doorway caused the door to pop out a little. Prying the doors apart, you peered inside and gasped. The interior was about half a meter in length on all sides – no bigger than a stove – and it was filled to the brim with relics of all kinds. A beautiful silver ring bearing the royal crest, a dusty old dagger discarded in the corner, and a silver, jewel-encrusted crown in the centre. What caught your eye, however, was what hung from the back board…

A painting hung in an ornate gold frame bearing a family portrait – a man with proud stature stood at the centre of the portrait, the eye not hidden by a patch watching you sternly and a bold bristling beard fighting with itself like the rustled feathers of a griffon. At his side was a woman with hair like living silk. It was elegantly arranged atop her head, shaping her face and making her look practically angelic. Her right hand – decorated with the ring that sat in the cupboard beneath it – gripped the lapel of her gown, and the other was on the shoulder of a well-built blonde man.

You knew this man’s face. This was the kind of Asgard. Thor sat on a silver stool of some kind, turned slightly to the side (presumably to show off his prowess). Next to Thor was another familiar face…

“They mock me,” Loki growled, catching you entirely by surprise. You spun around and slammed the doors shut behind you. “I do not know for what purpose my jailor brought them here, but I could not bring myself to look upon them another day. My mother’s ring, to remind me of the one family member I feared disappointing; my old dagger, to remind me who I used to be; a crown, to remind me what I lost; and a portrait, to remind me _who_ I cast aside.”

“You’re… You’re royalty. You’re the King’s brother.” Loki narrowed his eyes.  
“He’s king now, is he? I shouldn’t be surprised. I knew that my father had gone a long time ago. I’ll admit, it surprised me that you didn’t know me sooner. I thought I was better known than that. However, I surmise that your little village must have little to do with the capital city, nor its reigning inhabitants. I suppose after my imprisonment my name was lost in the wind.”

You stepped forward, eyes dripping with concern. Loki turned away from you harshly.  
“What possessed you to begin rifling through my belongings?” He snapped. Here we go again, you thought to yourself.  
“Really? I discover this part of you, and you’d rather chastise me than talk to me? Please, Loki, just talk to m-”  
“It is a part of myself I buried long ago, for good reason. Yet in you waltz and begin digging it up again! How dare you disrespect me this way!”

You felt your fists curling up. You marched forward and squared up to Loki, irate.  
“Can I do nothing right? Am I not good to you? For goodness’ sake, Loki, it seems that as of late I can act in no way without you biting my damned head off!”  
"Maybe if you acted less carelessly, you would not incite my rage so often."  
"And perhaps if you took responsibility for where you went wrong in life, time wouldn't have made you so bitter and resentful towards anyone wanting to help."

A stunned silence befell the room as both yourself and Loki caught your breath. It was not a screaming match you’d expected, but nonetheless, not one you intended to lose. This was the last straw. He’d finally pushed you over the edge.  
“I have tried to be kind. I have tried to be your friend, but... it is clear to me now. You are incapable of having anybody get close to you. You simply insist upon pushing them away.” You looked at him pointedly. “Maybe now you'll learn your lesson."

Snatching up your father’s shaving tools, you strode into the main room, threw everything into the wicker basket, and opened the main door with your belongings on your arm. The staircase had never looked so good. Loki followed you with haste. He watched you begin the descent and leaned over the railing.  
“You’ll be back,” he yelled. “You're nothing without me. Perhaps in a day, or perhaps in a week, it doesn’t matter! You'll find yourself crawling back here, just like usual."  
“Not this time, Loki,” you growled, though you knew he couldn’t hear you. “Not this time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart by [@losermagoo](https://loser-magoo.tumblr.com/post/169377849291/littlemisssyreid-oops-i-did-it-again-im-not):  
> 


	14. Chapter 14

Many a week had passed since the day you’d left The Tower behind you. Many a lonely night in a bed that now felt foreign and strange. Many a day spent in the company of those who you had no vested interest in.

Jarle was unsurprisingly glad to hear that your adventures were over. He called for you almost every day, insisting that you get out of the house when you’d have much preferred to stew in front of the fire.   
“There are plenty of adventures to be had here,” he assured you as you walked hand in hand around the marketplace. Everything felt a little… numb, to be honest. You had no gifts to search for, no food to collect, and no clothes to sew. What was the point of the marketplace again?

“I’ve finally got a hold of a sizeable pile of blueprinting paper for you,” Jarle said as he perused the jewellery stand. You weren’t paying attention, much more dedicated to moping around. How had Loki – a man so cruel and petty and unkind – gotten this much of a hold on you? After all, the mystery had been solved. You knew who he was, why he’d been imprisoned (to some degree), and why he felt such bitter resentment towards the outside world.

Jarle paid for his purchase and returned to your side. He noticed your daydreaming and sighed.   
“I… I don’t know what happened,” he said calmly, “nor why your little escapades have so abruptly ended, but if it is something upsetting and you should wish to discuss it, I will gladly listen. You can say as much or as little as you like.”

You turned to Jarle and flashed him an appreciative smile.   
“Thank you, Jarle, but it is best that I simply try to forget.”  
“Perhaps busying one’s mind will assist with that.”  
“Perhaps.”

Taking your hand, Jarle led you to the town library. Predictably, it was empty except for the librarian who greeted you warmly. In the centre of the dusty old room lay a rickety wooden table with one leg that was shorter than its brothers, held up by an old copy of the Asgardian Guide to Cement Mixing. On top of the table was paper; plain, untouched, fresh-smelling paper.

“Surprise,” Jarle cried. “Well, alright, it’s not really a surprise because I told you about it, but maybe you can act surprised anyway.”  
“Is this…?”  
“This is your chance,” he smiled. “This is your chance to show us what you know and to lead us places we’d never have known on our own.”

Perhaps he was right, you thought to yourself. With nothing to stop you any more, perhaps it was time you listened to Jarle and put your talents to good use – to the use of your hometown.

For the next few weeks your mood improved. Jarle called for you every morning and you both walked to the library. Whilst he continued organising construction of his new monument, you sat in the corner, planning maps and routes. Sometimes the two of you would go for walks in the forest so that you could consolidate everything that you remembered. Jarle was particularly keen to be taught how to use a compass.   
“Every time I come into these woods I fear I will lose my own head!”

Even your father seemed to have grown happier at your being home.   
“I do think that Jarle is a nice boy,” he mused one night as he cooked dinner over the fire. “He’s good for you, (y/n).”  
“That’s great, father,” you said with a roll of your eyes. “I’m glad you approve of my friends. Have you got mother’s dinner?”  
“Yes, yes, it’s almost done.”

After spooning some soup into a bowl, you took the food to your mother’s room. She lay in bed with the blankets loosely around her hips, and said very little to you as she accepted her supper. You watched her drink from the bowl with coarse lips, and you brushed away a strand of whisper-thin hair from her face. When she was finished, she gave you a tired smile and lay back.   
“Goodnight, mother,” you said softly before leaving the room.

Your father picked right up where you left off.   
“As I was saying, I think he’ll take very good care of you.” You rolled your eyes again.   
“And what do you mean by that, exactly?” Clearing his throat, your father looked practically overjoyed as he nodded his head in the direction behind you.

The room was dark save for the light cast by the fireplace, and it lit up Jarle’s face wonderfully. Had it not been for the watery smile on his face, you’d have assumed that the knee he was bent down on was broken for all the tears he was crying. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the paper bag. You remembered that bag… The day he bought something from the jewellery stand. Surely not!

Jarle held up the ring to you.

“I have known you since we were no taller than I am right now,” he began to speak, voice crumbling like cake.   
“Jarle-” You began, feeling your stomach churn. Your father took your elbow fiercely and – upon gaining your attention – shook his head.   
“I have known you for so long, and loved you all that time. I have good standing in the village, and my occupation provides well for me. I should like it to… to provide for us both. (Y/n), I want to take care of you, and I want to protect you, and cherish you until the day I die. Will… Will you permit me to? Will you consent to be my wife?”

Your eyes were wide with horror. Where was this coming from?   
“I… Jarle, no.”  
“What?” he stammered. Your father gripped your elbow once more, but this time it was ripped out of his reach.   
“Think about what you say, girl,” he snarled at you.   
“I am thinking. I am thinking straighter than I ever have before!” You cried, “I’m thinking that I should at least be courting a man before I agree to wed him.”

“Times are changing,” your father said, “and there are no other suitors in the village, none that will have you at least.”  
“Did it ever occur to either of you that I am not ready to be… had? I am not a prize to be won, so stop playing for keeps!”

Turning swiftly on your heel, you headed straight for the nearest open door: your mother’s room. You locked the door behind you and began pacing at the foot of the bed.   
“Gods, I cannot  _believe_  either of them. When have I ever expressed a romantic interest in Jarle? When have I ever expressed an interest in marriage for that matter? And what right does father have to think he could sway me like that? As if I’d say, ‘oh you’re right, I was just joking the first time, but now I see that you’re serious, of course I’ll marry you, Jarle! Aren’t I a good little girl?’ Is it wrong of me to be completely irate? Am I going mad, mother?”

You turned to look for guidance, but your mother remained quiet. Too quiet. Her eyes held the glassy stare reserved only for those passing into Valhalla.   
“Mother…?” You whispered, eyes prickling with tears as you ran to the bedside. “Mother, please talk to me. Say anything.”

Eventually, the world fell quiet. You couldn’t even hear your own sobs as you collapsed at your mother’s side and cried out her name. Her hand was still soft and felt warm in your own, but it was heavy and still. No pulse. No love.

You didn’t hear the sound of the bedroom door being broken down. Jarle swept in beside you, draping an arm over your shoulders as he grasped the situation. His mouth moved silently, instructing your father to fetch the village healers. He shushed you gently and wiped the tears from your cheeks, before turning and tending to your mother.

But you knew.

You knew she was gone. It was too late. You didn’t want to feel anymore; no more anger, no more pain. All you wanted… was to run. Mother’s room was on the ground floor of the house after it had been decided she couldn’t navigate the stairs any longer. Whilst Jarle was occupied, you ran to the window, opened the shutters, and kicked your legs over. You looked over your shoulder only once, watching Jarle examine your mother’s corpse. Sucking in a deep breath, you hopped to the floor and fled.

* * *

Time passed at a standstill in the tower. There were no clocks to tick, no dinners to eat, and no persons to wake up in the mornings. There was only time. The rising and falling of the sun.

Loki began to lose count of how many times he’d watched the sunrise since you’d left. Day by day every sign of you began to fade. The smell of you on his clothing lessened every hour, the hair you’d shaved from his face returned every night, and even his stomach had begun to rumble once again, a sound that had startled him the first time he’d heard it again.

To say that he was confused to see you burst from the brush once more was an understatement.

Loki had never been able to close the window once you’d opened it, but he wasn’t about to complain. The outside world was welcome company after being denied it for so long. He leaned out in surprise when he saw your tattered form sprinting towards him. The way your hands rubbed at your eyes… Were you crying?

Panic struck him like the plague, and Loki was scrambling to reach the top of the stairway. In all honesty, he’d thought you’d meant it when you said you’d never come back to him. He thought he’d missed the one chance he had for redemption. Now, as he sprinted down the staircase, he wished he could take it all back. He wouldn’t let you go again. He realised now that he needed you too much.

He reached the bottom of the staircase before you’d even begun the climb, your tear-ridden fingertips having made the removal of the icy bricks more difficult than usual. Loki froze on the last step. He watched you sob and sniff, completely unaware of his presence, as you tried to replace the last block of ice. It continued to slip and slide and your hands; you just couldn’t lift it. Evidently, the failure was too much to bear and you broke down onto your knees and wept.

Loki crossed the floor slowly and returned the brick to its place. He looked at your crumpled form, sobbing at his feet. It must’ve been something drastic to drive you back into his company, especially after the way he acted.   
“What… What happened?” He asked nervously, wondering if you’d even grant him the time of day. You stammered Jarle’s name, then your mother’s, then continued to weep. There’d be no helping you like this.

Not knowing what else to do, Loki lowered himself to the floor and sat cross-legged.   
“I… thought I’d never see you again,” his voice wavered like the plucked string of a harp. It took hima few more minutes of incessant throat-clearing for him to build up the courage to continue. “The idea of enduring this place without you is a most grave one, I assure you. I am perhaps not the best at keeping people close – as you correctly observed before you left – but that does not mean I am incapable; just… out of practice. I hope that your graciousness will permit me yet another chance.”

You sniffed and looked up at Loki, grateful for what he was trying to do. You rubbed the underside of your nose with the top of your hand and took in a deep, shivering breath.   
“Jarle… proposed,” you said. Loki blinked. He had definitely not seen that coming. “I turned him down, but my father said that I was foolish to do so, insisting I accept. I ran to my mother for support and found her… I found her…”

You turned away from him and wiped away a tear.   
“She is with the angels,” you said shakily.

“I am sorry to hear that,” Loki spoke earnestly. He felt the urge to touch your knee to console you but refrained. “I wish that your return to me had been spurred by happier events.”  
“You and me both,” you snivelled, laughing morbidly afterwards. “I didn’t mean to come running back. I was doing well at settling. Remember that plan I mentioned, to pioneer my village?”  
“I do, yes.”  
“We’d gone ahead with it, Jarle and I. It was going well.”

Loki nodded glumly.   
“I… I am happy to hear that,” he said.   
“No, you’re not,” you chuckled.   
“No, I’m not. But I am happy that it made you happy.”

You smiled appreciatively and let your head drop. This wasn’t as awkward as you’d expected it to be.   
“Still, I don’t know what to do with myself now,” you admitted, taking an even deeper breath and stretching. Even if it wasn’t legitimate, you could at least pretend you felt better. “I don’t know where to go. I certainly can’t go home.”

Loki’s eyes lit up. Suddenly he felt something within him return.   
“Well, no, of course you can’t go home. You’d be laughed out of town – look at yourself! I don’t know quite what you encountered in that forest but clearly it left you looking like you’ve been dragged backwards through a hedge.”  
“You should see the other guy,” you laughed.   
“It is obvious by the sight of you that the forest is simply too dangerous. One cannot be too careful these days, after all. I am hereby declaring those woods too treacherous for regular travel. Who knows? One of these days you might not survive the journey to and fro. Look at how we met, after all.”

“What are you suggesting, Loki?” You sighed. It was far too exhausting to play his guessing games. “That I should stop visiting you?”  
“On the contrary,” he smiled. “I believe you should stay.”   
“Stay? For how long?”  
“Indefinitely.”

You choked on a laugh but Loki’s expression remained the same. He was serious. You thought it through, and it… did make a surprising amount of sense. Loki wasn’t about to let you overthink it. He was desperate for you to agree.   
“You wouldn’t have to see that Jarle character again if you stayed, and you can still get home if you need to. Contrariwise, all our amenities are within the forest, or can be conjured by myself. What reason have you to leave?”

Biting your lip, you looked at Loki and caught the glint of hope in his eye. It was mad.   
“Loki, that’s-”  
“-incredible brilliant and clever, I know.”

You shook and dropped your head. Your mind run amok with all the reasons you shouldn’t stay, each time met with a counterargument. In your head, you began to convince yourself that maybe – just maybe – this was a good idea. Slowly, you let yourself nod. Loki broke out into a smile unlike anything you’d seen on him before.   
“You will? You’ll stay?”  
“You’ve convinced me; I’ll stay!”

* * *

Together, the two of you made the slow climb to the top of the tower. For the first time since you’d arrived, Loki waited with you, no matter how long it took. Your heavy legs made the climb harder than usual. Every time you felt need to pause and rest, Loki’s eyes looked to your hand, wondering if taking it would encourage you to move faster.

Once you reached the top, it sunk in that this was where you lived now. It felt more like home than the village had ever done, and that thought alone helped you come to the conclusion that staying was the right idea. Though it still hadn’t fully sunk in that you’d  _chosen_  to stay in this place indeterminately, the premise was… oddly exciting.

“May… May I give you something?” Loki asked, before you could make for the bedroom.  
“A gift? For me?”  
“Of sorts, yes.” You hesitated only a second.   
“Alright.”

Loki’s arms were firmly by his sides at first as he looked around the room. He cleared his throat a number of times. What did he have to look so nervous about? Surely he didn’t plan to propose as well, did he? The joke admittedly stung, but it amused you nonetheless. You watched Loki curiously until, as slowly as a tree grows its roots, he lifted his arms. They were held open to you.

Your eyes widened significantly when you realised what it was that Loki wished to give you. He was unable to make eye-contact but despite this, quickly cottoned on to your hesitation. In order to compensate, he tentatively edged closer until he could place his right hand on your shoulder. Gently you were pulled closer. Your cheek hit his chest softly but it took a minute for you to overcome your surprise. When you did, however, the tears began to flow. Loki placed his other hand atop your head and began to stroke your hair. It was as much a comfort to him as it was to you.  
“There-” he cleared his throat. “There, there. It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

And there you stayed, safe, until the moment whence you permitted yourself to turn in for the night.


	15. Chapter 15

Loki was still awake. He hadn’t slept all night. He couldn’t explain it but there was something… strange, and new, about knowing that when you awoke that morning, you would have no intention of leaving. You were actually here to stay. He had company; company he… enjoyed.

“Good morning,” came a sleepy voice from the bedroom doorway. Loki turned and cleared his throat. You yawned and stretched, rubbing the sleep from your eyes before trudging further into the room. You were still in your clothes from the night before, tattered and damaged from your run through the forest, but evidently still suitable for sleeping in.   
“Good morning,” he replied.

You pressed your palms against your lower back and pushed it in, enjoying the way your spine stretched.   
“We’ve got to do something about that bed,” you groaned as you shuffled closer to Loki, sitting yourself at the other end of the window seat.   
“What’s wrong with it?” Loki asked, tilting his head.   
“Spoken by a man who has evidently not slept in it more than once. It’s made of _ice_ , Loki, what do you think is wrong with it? I could tolerate it when I was only here one night, maybe two nights, a week, but if I’m going to stay, it’s got to change. Lots of things need to.”

Nodding slowly, Loki looked out of the window again. A gentle breeze brushed over his face.   
“I didn’t quite think this through, did I?” He asked with a sigh. You snorted.   
“No, but I’ve never associated you with having a brain, don’t worry,” you chuckled. Loki frowned and glared at you.

“Fix the bed and I’ll consider taking it back,” you teased with a smirk.   
“I’ll see what I can do.”

Pulling your knees up under your chin, you turned your toes in and stared at them intensely. Loki narrowed his eyes when he caught sight of your low eyebrows and bitten lip.   
“You’re thinking about your mother,” he murmured. You felt tears threatening to emerge again, but oppressed the urge.   
“I just left her,” you whispered. “Alive or not, I abandoned her at the first sign of trouble. She’s probably having her funeral planned right now.”

Loki sighed and nodded.   
“You know you… you don’t _have_ to stay with me. We’ve not set anything in stone; you can still go home and see her put to rest.”  
“No, I can’t,” you said, wiping away the tear that had broken through. “Not now. I couldn’t face my father – or Jarle. I’ve made my choice and… as hard as it is, I don’t regret it.” You looked up at Loki and smiled weakly at him. He leaned forward and dried your eyes briskly with his sleeve.   
“You’re stubborn and tough,” Loki said. “You won’t let this beat you. If an infected leg wound didn’t beat you, then there’s no way something as petty as _love_ will.”  
“I’ll try to take that as a compliment,” you chuckled, properly rubbing your eyes.

“Keep your chin up and I’ll consider taking it back.”

* * *

 

Loki didn’t know what to do with himself for some time after. It seemed that your mind was racing with so many thoughts that sitting in silence was preferable for the time being; the inner host in him wished he had food or drink or something to offer you – but it’d been you who’d supplied those in the past. What had he truly to offer?

Whilst his thoughts were still focused on everything he wasn’t doing, yours decided on what you could be doing. Kicking your legs over the side of the window seat, you stretched once more and stood upright.   
“Where are you going?” Loki asked.   
“ _You_ might be content to sit here every day and night, but I am not. I’m hungry, and I need exercise. I’m going into the forest for food. Maybe some firewood. Can I do that? Will a fire melt this place down?”

“Not likely,” Loki said, “but isn’t that risky? I mean look at your attire. It’s still torn from your journey here.”  
“You’re right, Loki,” you sighed, rolling your eyes, “I can’t possibly pick fruits in this garb. I’ll be sure to look out for the forest fashion merchant.”  
“Hilarious. I just meant that you might be too weak still!”  
“Hence why I need food to raise my energy levels.”

There was evidently no convincing you to stay so Loki shrugged and returned his gaze to the outside world. He was watching a mother bird fly with her young in the nearby airspace.   
“Oh no you don’t,” you scolded him, grabbing his wrist and pulling him onto his feet. “Whilst I’m gone you’re going to fix this place up. I want a comfortable bed and whatever else you think I’ll need if I’m staying here.”

You continued to drag him into the centre of the room, hoping to eradicate his desire to sit down again. He protested by dragging his feet.   
“I don’t even know if my magic is up to this task. I’ve not used it in so long.”  
“Then I don’t doubt the practice will do it good. Stop whining.”  
“But how am I supposed to know what you want? I’ve not lived amongst civilised society in years.”  
“Oh for gods’ sake, use your imagination!” You yelled as you left the room and began descending the staircase.

* * *

 

The forest was thankfully quiet and wolf-free. You’d not foraged in this leg of the woods before so the selection of available food and flora was incredibly exciting. Ascertaining which of them were safe to eat, however, was not. Your stomach took a serious battering in sampling everything, an experience you hoped you’d never have to endure again. You gathered the fruits and vegetables you’d deemed safe in the apron of your skirt, and began the walk back to the t- _home_ … The walk back home. You weren’t used to calling it that. It seemed strange that such a place could be a home for anyone.

Returning to the clearing, you looked up and were pleased to see that Loki wasn’t visible in the window. You hoped that he’d been hard at work.

To your surprise and delight he had! Though it had evidently taken its toll on him, judging by the way he’d decided to nap flat on his back in the middle of the room, his magic had proved useful. Not only had he created objects of use – an easel, a writing desk, and a tiny stone firepit – but he’d also decorated the room with plants, candelabras, and empty picture frames.

Hearing you enter the room, he sat up.   
“I think…” he panted, “I think I went a little overboard.” You began to laugh, looking around the room.   
“No, I think you did just fine. I can’t even tell that this place is made of ice.”  
“I’ve got no idea if these changes will last. The little things I’d conjured before have stuck around but this might be too much change, too many home comforts. The Tower might not let me have them.”

“We’ll make the best of it,” you smiled, beginning to look for somewhere to drop your gatherings. Loki suddenly seemed to remember something. He stood up and picked up a wicker basket that you’d not noticed.   
“I know it’s not as big as the one you used to bring from home, but I figure it’d still do the trick.”  
“It’s perfect,” you smiled. You were admittedly impressed at all the details he’d remembered.

Grateful for the appreciation of his efforts, Loki waited for you to drop the food into the basket before grabbing your wrist and pulling you towards the bedroom. He _had_ been busy – and he seemed proud of himself too, which was refreshing to see.

The bed now had a mattress and sheets. Candles adorned the walls in this room too, and a small potted plant sat by the bedside. He’d even dusted and reorganised the bookshelf.   
“Is it alright?” He asked, toying with the edge of his sleeve.   
“It’s better than alright.”  
“And I’m not done,” he said with a smug smile, stealing away into the bathroom. When he returned, he was holding a pile of clothes in his hand. Dresses in gold, lilac, and green made up the bulk of the pile, with a few pairs of cotton shirts and trousers strewn in for good measure. “I’m not quite the seamstress you are but I tried my best. Hopefully something in here will fit.”

Loki waited patiently as you tried each article of clothing on. When you emerged from the bathroom, you were wearing a loose-fitting seafoam shirt, and crisp white trousers. He’d intended for them to be nightclothes but didn’t mind that you wore them now. Honestly, he was just grateful they fit at all. In fact, you looked very, very nice in them… He shook his head, casting aside such thoughts.   
“I’m impressed,” you said, examining the stitch work on the clothes as you lay them onto the bed. “There’s only one thing that doesn’t fit properly – and even then, it’s just too big so I can wear it to be comfortable if I like. I… Thank you, Loki.” You spoke warmly, hoping you could convey just how grateful you were.

“And your old clothes?” He asked, looking at the threadbare dress you’d tucked under your arm. You handed it reluctantly over to him.   
“I suppose it’s no good now, is it?” You asked with a sad smile. It seemed a shame that the only thing you had left of home was no longer fit for wear.

“I’ve been waiting to do this,” Loki muttered with a wicked grin, before sliding towards the window and tossing the old dress out. You cried and hurried to his side, leaning out the window to watch the dress catch on a gust of wind and float slowly away. Loki clapped a hand on his chest and laughed at your expression of horror. If you hadn’t been so aghast, you’d have been enraptured by the sound of the world’s most miserable man _laughing_.  
“Don’t worry,” he chuckled, “I’m sure some homeless creature will appreciate it – or perhaps a forest fire!”

You punched Loki playfully in the shoulder, hoping it hurt, but he still didn’t cease his laughter until the clothes had hit soil; in a puddle no less, just to add insult to injury. With a curt sigh, you returned to the bedside.   
“I do have one question, though,” you asked as you climbed onto the mattress and bounced up and down for good measure. “Where will you sleep? Or do you insist on remaining in that gods forsaken window seat?”

“What do you mean?” Loki asked, with a tilted head. “I just… I assumed…”

You widened your eyes and let your mouth fall open.   
“Uh, no, Loki. That’s not happening. I knew you lacked some social graces but that’s… I’m drawing the line at that. We are not sharing.”  
“Then I guess it’s the window seat as usual,” he said casually as he left the room.   
“Well don’t say it like that – now I feel bad!”

* * *

 

You chewed the end of the paintbrush nervously and examined your work. The brushwork was… amateurish at best, and your use of colour needed some improvement. Seeing that you’d paused, Loki got up from his seat and wandered over. He moved his head in various directions trying to decipher what was in front of him.   
“What… What’s is supposed to be?” He asked. Your shoulders dropped.   
“I thought it was obvious!”

Loki leaned in and squinted at your painting. There were navy and lighter blues bordering the whole canvas, and a strange brown splodge in the centre. It appeared to have eyes… Were those eyes? Why did they look like they were upside down?  
“I… No, I’m sorry, I can’t even hazard a guess.” You huffed angrily and put down the brush and palette so that you could fold your arms. Sure, it wasn’t your best work but you hadn’t thought it was _that_ bad.   
“It’s an otter, obviously.”

Loki’s expression changed drastically. It was supposed to be an otter?!  
“I know I’ve not seen one in a while, but I’m fairly certain no otter looks like that.”  
“You’re just looking at it wrong. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
“Perhaps not. Or perhaps it is the more likely scenario that you’re a terrible painter.”

Loki was very grateful that the paint was dry as you picked up the canvas and battered him with it repeatedly. All he could do was laugh.


	16. Chapter 16

You swung your basket around happily as you foraged in the forest. It had only been a couple of days but already the Tower was beginning to feel like home. You always had company, you weren’t shamed for spending your time as you wished, and the only thing you had expected of you was to collect food from the forest every so often, something you were happy to do! Some days, if you were lucky, your roommate was even happy to see you. In any case, it was still better than living in the village.

The village…

Your stomach churned again as you thought about it. No matter how you tried, you just couldn’t seem to put the past behind you. Every time you thought about your father, your mother, Jarle… You felt worried. Where did they think you were? What were they doing right now? Were they okay? The image of your mother’s body being sent to Valhalla without you there to say goodbye was… heart-breaking.

You sniffled, determined to fight away the tears before they could start, and picked a large bulbous fruit from a nearby branch, dropping it into your basket. You cleared your throat and looked around, deciding you were ready to head back to the tower. The scenery ahead of you was unfamiliar, however. You turned again. No, that wasn’t right… You had spun in a full circle before you admitted defeat. You were lost.

“Really?” You groaned aloud. “Again?” Curse your distracting thoughts. With a curt sigh, you turned on your heel and began to walk, lifting your knees high to step over the growing forest floor and clutching your skirt so it didn’t gather mud; if nothing else, you should at least aim for the way you came.

For a while you walked in quiet, nothing but birdsong and a gentle wind filling your ears. Then came the thunder. At first it was slow and calm, like a gaining tide; you wondered if it was a passing merchants’ group, perhaps one you could ask directions of. However, when the tide turned and the speed of the hooves picked up, you could feel your heart beginning to beat in time. Something wasn’t right.

A horn sounded most suddenly – _parp!_ – and frightened you enough that your knees gave way. You hit the ground and peered above a particularly large green leaf at the oncoming horde. Was someone… hunting? A parade of three white horses were indeed making their way with speed through the underbrush, powerful muscle pushing aside tender dew-littered leaes. About 2 feet behind them, at a lesser speed, a dark carriage also followed. A carriage… Could it be?

Your brain tortured you with the vivid image of a similar looking carriage that, once upon a time, you’d almost been bundled into. It might have been the same one; it also might not. You weren’t about to risk it for the sake of directions.

Grabbing the handle of your basket, you turned and scrambled through the vegetation. At the sound of a kerfuffle, the hunt turned, locating the movement. From a distance, your crouched posture possibly hid the fact that you were more than just a forest creature.

With another triumphant trumpet, they hunt began their pursuit. You leapt and scampered through the forest as best you could, but bent down as you were, you lacked speed.

When an arrow pierced the tree trunk nearest to your face, you realised the situation. All blood drained from your face, and you yelped as your foot twisted painfully, throwing you forward into the soil.

You could hear shouts of victory from behind you, until one overpowered them all, insisting they cease fire with a lion-like roar. You were done for; your muggers had found you after all.

The horses chuffed impatiently as they were halted, their heavy hooves sending ripples through the earth and warning you of their proximity. Shortly after they’d slowed, you heard a pair of heavy boots hit the ground. You put your head down and clasped your hands over the top. Perhaps they’d just walk right by you…

You should be so lucky. The boot-wearer stopped next to your head.   
“It’s a woman, you buffoons,” he called with the same booming tone as had previously silenced the crowd.

“Ma’am?” He spoke gentler this time, placing a hand on your lower back to reassure you. Strangely enough, it worked. You hadn’t even realised you’d been trembling. “Ma’am, are you hurt? It’s alright, you’re in no danger now.” You turned slowly over and looked at the man who’d inadvertently threatened and saved your life.

The King of Asgard smiled down upon you.

Accepting the hand he offered, you were helped to sit up.   
“Are you hurt?” He asked, grateful to see you shake your head. He eyed the upset basket and began gathering the contents together as you stood.   
“Oh, please, your highness, that’s really not-”  
“You almost got shot because of my hunt and their faulty telescopes,” he said, talking pointedly to one of his party towards the end. The lieutenant bowed their head ashamedly.

The King held out the basket to you, all of your gatherings neatly piled within.   
“And please, I insist you call me Thor. ‘Your highness’ was my father.”

Hearing him speak of his family and father caused Loki to come mind. You had so many questions. So many things to say.  
“Thank you, Thor - though please don’t be too harsh on your people. How were they supposed to know there’d be a woman running around in the forest?”   
“Yes, I do have some questions about that,” he winked at you. Gesturing to the slowly retreating party of hunters, Thor began to walk. You, however, stayed put.   
“Can… Can we accompany you back to the beaten path?” He asked slowly, wondering why you’d frozen. You smiled thinly.   
“I, uh, I can find my own way back. Thank you.”

Narrowing his eyes, Thor watched the way you stood. Rigid. Tense. You hadn’t moved a muscle since you’d made it back onto your feet.   
“You _are_ hurt, aren’t you?”

Shaking your head gently, you looked down and cleared your throat softly.  
“What is it?” He asked. “Your ankle? A twisted ankle still counts as an injury.”  
“I’ve had worse; I’ll be fine,” you assured him. Thor held up his hands and approached you again, bringing his horse with him.

You squeaked as he lifted you clean off of the ground and placed you into the animal’s saddle.   
“If you are injured in any way, I am responsible. I shall see you carried wherever you wish.”

How was this man related to the one who awaited you at home? For starters, the former had significantly better manners… Thinking about Loki again reminded you of everything you wanted to ask and say. You didn’t know how much Thor knew or didn’t know. Until you discerned as much, you decided it was best that he know nothing.   
“I’ll admit I was a _little_ lost before you found me. If you wouldn’t mind just taking me back to the main road, I should be able to find my way from there.”  
“Are you sure you will even be able to walk?”

You remembered how it felt to crawl up the tower’s whole staircase with an infected wound on your leg.   
“I’ll be fine,” you smirked.

* * *

 

At first, you and the king walked in silence. The gentle steps of his horse helped to relax you and take all thoughts away from how strange a situation you were in. Thor cleared his throat suddenly.  
“I hope you don’t think it impertinent, but… I have a few questions.”  
“Ask away,” you smiled.

“Well, I’m sure the most obvious question is: what are you doing so deep in the woods on your own?”  
“I… I live out here.” Thor stopped in his tracks momentarily. What a suggestion!  
“Surely you cannot be serious. There are no villages for miles in these parts. Where could you possibly live?”  
“I once crawled through this forest on my hands and knees, covered in blood, bruises, and lacerations to my leg. I know a thing or two about survival, I assure you,” you chuckled. You didn’t mean to appear so ominous or arrogant but you had to be careful what you gave away.

Thor laughed heartily. He couldn’t tell if you were joking with him or not. It seemed ludicrous but you offered no other explanation.   
“Might I ask of you why your hunt has ventured to this part of the forest? The monarchy usually has very little contact with citizens outside of the capital. We’ve all but forgotten about your family, I’m afraid.”

“Well, in my defence, that is something I am trying to correct,” Thor happily explained. “ _All_ citizens deserve audience with the king. However, my reasons this time are aside from that. You see, we are holding a festival.”  
“A festival?” You asked. “What kind of festival?”

Thor’s face grew solemn and he turned away.   
“A memorial,” he said.

“Your brother?” You asked, feeling your heart jump. This was just the topic you wanted to come up. Thor turned slowly and eyed you with a raised brow.   
“I thought you said your people had all but forgotten about my family,” he crooned.  
“There are a few who are… better acquainted with it than you might think.”

Thor sighed.   
“Yes, my brother. He, as I’m sure you know, committed a heinous crime many years ago. My father imprisoned him but he… he died shortly after.”

You blinked. Thor thought Loki was dead?!   
“It… happened in the night. Father explained it must’ve been the stress of the situation, forced his heart to give out. All I know is I was awoken the next morning with the grave news that he’d been put to rest. I never even saw his body.”

Why that loathsome… You found your grasp on the horse’s reins tightening with anger. First that Allfather locks his son away in a tower with a one in a million chance of ever being free, then he tells his other son, the only person who might’ve been able to help that he’s been dead all this time! What sort of man does that? What kind of–  
“Ma’am?” Thor said, noticing your scowl and tightened grip. The main road was in sight and you’d soon have to be on your way.

“Sorry, I… Your majesty, I have to tell you something. Your brother’s still alive,” you said, gazing earnestly at him. Thor’s mouth opened aghast.   
“I- I understand your emotions. He does indeed live on in all of us. Perhaps he was not the most perfect of people, but he admittedly had his moments.”

“Actually, he’s perfect arse,” you said. “I know because I’ve met him, I know him, I live with him.”  
“Please ma’am,” Thor said holding up a hand. “Do not speak of my brother this way. My heart is tormented enough.”

“But don’t you see?” You insisted as Thor lifted you down onto the side of the road. “Your father lied! He moved Loki to another prison and he’s just awaiting rescue.” You took Thor’s arm and began to pull him gently across the road, “Come, I can show you and then his suffering can be over.”

Thor made no motion to move, however, and you turned around. His face was verging on anger, but he purposefully softened it to appear forgiving.   
“Your ankle seems well now,” he murmured and the blood drained from your face. With a curt smile, Thor turned and mounted his horse, his cape billowing behind him. “You go too far talking of my father and my brother so callously. However, I shall forgive you because my actions today. The festival has already begun, as marked by the lanterns we lit weeks ago. However, in the coming weeks, we shall light them again for the closing ceremony. If you are as fond of my brother as you say, I ask that you light one with us.”

Just like that, Thor nudged the flanks of his horse and the hunting party moved swiftly on, cantering down the road at a gentle pace. After a while, the bugles sounded once again and they galloped back into the brush. You were left in the dust with nothing more than your frustrations, and a basket full of dirty fruit.

* * *

 

Loki looked up at the sound of footsteps on the uppermost stairs. He felt strange sitting somewhere other than his window seat but reminded himself that change was supposed to be good. He closed the drawer on the writing desk and returned the quill to its pot, turning to face you as you closed the main door.

“You’ve been gone for hours; I almost let myself worry,” Loki chuckled, standing up to greet you.   
“Oh, well then I’m _almost_ grateful,” you quipped as you pulled the cloak from your shoulders and threw it down. You seemed strangely irritable, he noted, and there was dirt strewn up the front of your clothing. How disrespectful; he’d only just fashioned those for you!

“What happened?” He asked, only marginally concerned. You avoided eye contact and crossed the room swiftly, intending to wash your produce in the bathroom sink.   
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing at all.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I want to pimp out some fanart that somebody based on this fic piece; it actually made my year. WanderingWorldWarrior created an absolutely incredible piece of artwork around this fic and I can't stress enough how brilliant it is. Please, check it out and revel in its glory as I did:   
> https://wanderingworldwarrior.tumblr.com/post/165211857459/i-was-listening-to-littlemisssyreids-fanfiction
> 
> Okay advertisement over.

It was another clear sky morning, though a few clouds lingered overhead. Loki watched a small butterfly on the edge of the windowsill stretching its wings to soak in the sun’s rays. He stroked it gently with its littlest finger until it eventually fluttered away.

You emerged from the bedroom shortly after, looking, to put it frankly, awful.   
“I’d say good morning,” Loki smirked when he heard you enter the room. You ran a hand through thoroughly unkempt hair.    
“Don’t even start with me.”

Frowning, Loki stood up from his seat and approached you. He noted the beads of sweat on your brow as he put the back of his hand on your forehead.   
“You’re sick,” he determined and you rolled your eyes.   
“I’m not sick per se,” you explained, “but I’ve been… frequenting the bathroom, yes. Those fruits are working a number on my stomach. I either need more fibre – more vegetables – or I need some meat. God, I’d kill for a pork roll right now.”

Determined to better your diet, you bathed briskly and headed straight out the front door with your wicker basket.   
“What do you expect you’ll find out there that you haven’t already?” Loki called out to you on your way down. He was a little worried that you’d collapse before you could make it home.   
“I’ll keep my eyes open for some vegetables. If I can’t find any, then I’ll sharpen a stick and stab the first thing I find.”

Loki didn’t quite know what to think about that. The image of you hunting boars with a large stake in hand was amusing. He shrugged and returned to the main room. He had things of his own to be getting on with.

* * *

 

Several hours had passed since you’d begun your venture, and still your basket was no heavier. You’d found a couple of root vegetables under a bush but a particularly feisty mother weasel had prevented you from getting at them. Moving on, you promised yourself that you’d collect the vegetables on the way back, either when she’d moved on with her children or when you had something to defend yourself with. A sharpened stick was sounding more and more like a good idea.

You pulled back a wiry branch and sighed at the sight it had revealed. Every time you explored this neck of the woods you found new places. As pretty as the area was, the clearing you had stumbled upon didn’t appear all that bountiful. There was, however, a glistening pool at the other end, filled, cleaned, and maintained by the waterfall that gushed into it. It was beautiful to look at – and tantalising.

With a small smile, you ran to the water’s edge and dropped your basket. You shimmied out of your cloak and outer skirt, folding them neatly and placing them inside the wicker. The water was brisk but inviting and within a few minutes you’d waded all the way up to your waist. It was never until you washed it all off that you realised how dirty and warm you became whilst foraging. Soil and sweat worked its way into your pores.

After swimming for only a little more, you decided it was time to get out. After all, you only had a few more hours of daylight to dry yourself off with.

Before you could make for the grass once more, a commotion at the clearing’s border stilled your legs. A band of three men in dark, sooty clothing stretched as they ambled aimlessly towards you. You pinched your nose and sunk as far as you could into the pond, kicking furiously until you were as far away from the riverbank as you could get.

Clambering out at the waterfall’s edge, you hid behind the rushing water and prayed for a miracle. How did you always manage to get yourself into these scrapes?

The three men were now blurred by the running water and muted by the splash. However, you could see that one of them had knelt down to examine the strange clothing-filled basket that lay beside the pool. It didn’t take them long to figure out the rest.

They had to yell more than once, each time progressively louder than the last, before you could make out what they were saying.   
“Come out now, and ye’ won’t be harmed,” said the silhouette in the middle. “We see ye’ missy, hidin’ behind that there waterfall. No point staying there now.”

What were you supposed to do? There were two choices as far as you could tell: step out from behind the waterfall and reveal yourself to them in nothing but your sodden undergarments, or call their bluff and undoubtedly be dragged out against your will.

Being careful not to slip on the wet rock, you stepped out from behind the waterfall. You crossed your arms, hoping to cover your exposed forearms and appear a little more modest. The three men wore bandanas over their mouths, but their expressions were obvious by the gleam in their eyes. Lascivious bastards.

“J-J-Just go now, and-”  
“And what? Ye’ think a little thing like you can harm us?” The tallest of the three yelled. He then lifted a gloved finger and beckoned you closer. “Come here and talk to us, missy. We is only wanting a chat.”

With no other option, you slowly stepped into the pool once more and swam closer, keeping your head down as you stepped out. They slowly moved to surround you, tilted heads examining you from head to toe.   
“Quite a pretty little thing, aren’t ye’?” The tallest man said. “Well, lucky for you, we ain’t in the body-selling business. However, we ‘ave got a little something else that needs, uh…” He chuckled lowly and you winced, “that needs _testing_. What say you boys? Shall we give it a go?”

The ‘boys’ never got a chance to respond. You elbowed the man behind you squarely in the jaw, and in the same motion swung your fist forward to punch the man directly in front. Having both of his assailants knocked out at once shocked the third brute for long enough to grant you a chance of escape. You ducked out of his grasp and began to run as fast as your legs would carry you. It was a tad slower than usual on account of your water-weighted clothing, however.

The shadows of the forest were your only chance of freedom. They seemed to beckon you, promising respite and a safe retreat. Of course it was too good to be true.

Boom! Your body was knocked clean into the air, sending you flying at least a foot until you hit the floor once more, flat on your back. With the wind knocked clean out of you, the only thing you could do was roll over and cough. The three brutes had since recovered and began the slow stumble towards you. What was that they’d detonated? It hadn’t sounded like any regular kind of bomb, but then again you’d never been on the receiving end of one. Your head felt muggy and hot. Everything looked like a blur.

Before the murky figures of your attackers could get too close, the furthest away was hit by something and slumped to the floor. His friends froze. When the second man fell to the floor, you thought you saw what had hit him. It was thin and quick and went straight into his head.

The third brute – the tallest one again – leapt on top of you, and pulled your dizzy form upright. His voice rang painfully clear in your ears.   
“Don’t do it if you want ‘er alive,” he yelled in no particular direction. Not that your blurry vision was helping, but you couldn’t see who had come to your aid. Judging by the way your captor stumbled backwards and turned his head this way and that, neither could he.

After a moment, a gentle _thwip_ sound could be heard north-west of you. The arrow pierced the brute’s eye socket and he fell backwards fast, dragging you to the ground with him as his life force gargled out of him. Even though you knew you were probably safe, you felt too sluggish to move, contenting yourself with lying still and trying to get a grasp on your pounding head. That definitely had been no ordinary grenade. Even if the effects had been bad, surely they wouldn’t last this long.

A heavy pair of footsteps could be heard jogging towards you, timely clanking and rustling indicating he wore a plethora of weaponry and some kind of armour on his person. A pair of large hands grabbed your forearms, lifting you up. Your saviour shook you gently.   
“Hey, lady, wake up. Come on, stay awake now.” You blinked sleepily, feeling the word awake like it was a warm blanket. Sleep actually sounded very good right now…

“Shit,” the man murmured with a voice like ground pebbles. Though you couldn’t make out his features, he was a vision of fluffy red hair, some of which seemed to spill onto his face.   
“Talk to me, lady. What’re you doing all the way out here? Where are you from? Where do I take ya?”

You managed to slur out a few words before black encompassed your consciousness.   
“West… Tower.”

* * *

 

Loki paced the floor of the main room, tugging the hem of his sleeve and chewing his lip. It wasn’t like you to be gone this long. Even when you’d travelled all the way from home, you were here before sunset. The sun seemed mocked him from the horizon, waving cruelly as it sunk further south. He had tried to reassure himself multiple times but to no avail.

Perhaps you were just hunting a particularly rambunctious pig, he assured himself. No, there’s no way you’d waste time hunting after dark, he countered.

Maybe you’d just elected to take a risk and do a longer search today, he wagered. What for? He countered himself. You had stockpiled plenty of food and the need for a fibrous diet did not outweigh the risks of the forest at night.

He debated with himself for many an hour, working himself into a stupor at the hopelessness of it all, before electing to flop into his window seat once more. He hoped to find something to distract himself.

And that he did.

A piercing whistle rang through the midnight air and burned Loki’s ears. What on earth-

Looking down, he caught sight of a man waving at him. From this height, Loki could not see much of him aside from a bristling head of fiery red hair.   
“Hey! Over here!” called the stranger. “This your dame?”

Loki frowned. What was he supposed to say that?  
“She’s got, uh, scar on one of her calves, wicker basket filled with clothes and some veggies, and…” The man scratched his head. “…nice pair o’ tits? Sound like anyone you know?”

If Loki hadn’t been so concerned and relieved simultaneously, he might have gained a little bile in his mouth.   
“Bring her up,” he yelled down, leaping from the window seat and hurrying down the staircase. The red-headed man, who in fact appeared to be a dwarf of the mines, had already kicked in the loose bricks and dragged your body through the hole. Loki was concerned at how heavy you looked. It didn’t bode well.

“I’m assuming,” the dwarf grunted as he lifted your unconscious form inside, “that you do actually know ‘er, and you ‘aven’t got some sort of… other intention.” Loki jumped onto the ground floor and hurried over to where you lay at the dwarf’s feet. He whispered your name as he brushed a piece of your hair aside. You didn’t stir.   
“Quickly,” Loki instructed. “Upstairs.”

The dwarf complained very little about the height up which he was forced to carry you. What he did complain about, however, was how little Loki helped.   
“It’s your missus, pal,” he groaned. “It shouldn’t be me hauling ass right now.”

Ignoring him, Loki flitted upstairs and prepared the bedspread. The dwarf lay you down gently and tucked you in, stretching promptly after. He doubted you were as heavy as his mannerisms implied, and humbly pinned it down to your wet clothes.   
“What happened to her?” Loki demanded.   
“Don’t look at me, buddy. I didn’t do this to ‘er.”

Loki was quickly growing irate without answers. The dwarf held up his hands.   
“Me and a bunch of other folks got a little mine not far from here, where we’s focused on a particular vein of ore. This stuff’s supposed to be good at numbing ya’ up right and proper. For surgery, like. We sell it to doctors and herbalists generally. Only we was robbed of half our supply last week by someone we didn’t catch. I left the boys at the mine to track the bastards down. Been hunting ‘em for 3 days now. They ground this stuff up real fine, see, and threw in a dash of gunpowder for good measure. By the time I caught up to ‘em, they’d fashioned a whole bunch of the nasty stuff. They caught your missus swimming and decided to use her as a test subject.”

“Knockout bombs,” Loki murmured as he turned to look at you. Even before he’d heard this, he knew you looked far too still.   
“Powerful stuff too,” the dwarf sighed. “See, she ain’t just sleeping. She isn’t aware of anything; she can’t sense or feel a thing.”

Loki slowly lowered himself onto the floor by your side. He rested his chin on the mattress and looked at you sincerely. How could this have happened?   
“I wouldn’t worry about them doing any more ‘arm though,” the dwarf smiled. He patted the crossbow on his back fondly. “We got ‘em all.”

“Thank you for bringing her to me,” Loki sighed, never once breaking his gaze. “You may leave now.”  
“Glad I’ve got your permission to go,” the dwarf grunted, “but just in case this ain’t where she wanted to be, I think I’ll stick around. As soon as I hear from _her_ mouth that I can go, then I’ll go.”  
“I do not want your company,” Loki growled, clutching the bedsheets in frustration. The last thing he needed was some irritating, lewd dwarf hanging around his neck. This whole situation had already dampened his spirits enough.

“I wasn’t asking, _pal_ ,” the dwarf snarled back. “I ain’t risking her modesty by leaving ‘er with some stranger thinking he got lucky. Unless you got something you wanna hide?”

Gritting his teeth, Loki took your cold hand to calm himself. As bad as it was, he reminded himself that it could’ve been worse. Without this man’s intervention, you’d be in this state in the middle of nowhere. Loki wouldn’t have known, nor would he have been able to help. At least you were here now. They could figure out the rest later.   
“I have nothing to hide. If you wish to stay then so be it, but stay out of the way.”

The dwarf grunted and lifted the crossbow from his shoulder. Once he’d removed all his weaponry and heavy armour, he took himself to the chair across the room and sat comfortably, sighing loudly as the weight was lifted off of his feet. Time was going to pass incredibly slowly, Loki realised.

“And since ye’ didn’t ask,” the dwarf declared, “the name’s Brynjolf. Pleasure to meet ya’.”


	18. Chapter 18

Brynjolf stayed for a while, as promised. He said very little, to Loki’s delight, contenting himself instead on cleaning his weapons whilst he sat near you, keeping an eye on your health as he worked.

Thankfully, there wasn’t much for him to tend to. Aside from being completely out cold, there was nothing noticeably wrong with you. No sweating, no shivering, no blood to stop flowing. For whatever reason, however, this worried Loki more. When you’d first arrived at the tower, you’d had cuts and bruises and all sorts of ailments. Things he could fix. Now you were just… here. Knocking at death’s door and still waiting for an answer.

The most trouble the two men had encountered was deciding whom was responsible for changing you out of your wet clothes.

After the first night in which you hadn’t awoken, Loki exhausted a lot of his magic attempting to wake you himself. Obviously, it hadn’t worked. The second night passed also without consequence. By the third night, even Brynjolf seemed visibly worried.   
“If she don’t wake up soon, that powder won’t be what kills her. She’ll starve or dehydrate in her sleep.”   
“You don’t have to tell me,” Loki murmured as he paced the room. “But we’ve eaten most of our food supplies between the two of us. We don’t have enough that we could feed her even if she awoke.”

Brynjolf scratched his chin thoughtfully, a sprinkle of fiery hair littering his knuckles. As well as this, he also had a braided moustache which sat above his lip and extended all the way down his face until it blended with a large buzzing beard. His loud personality accentuating his short, stout stature, and contradicted the soft blue eyes that were covered by eyelids as he sighed. Loki looked even leaner in his company.

“Alright,” Brynjolf declared, jumping up into his boots, “I’ll go out for some grub.” He shouldered his crossbow and made for the main door. Loki followed him out of the room, all the way to the top of the staircase.  
“Just like that?”   
“I don’t like it as much as you, pal,” Brynjolf called back. “But ye’ don’t seem like the hunting type, and I wouldn’t let you use my crossbow even if you was. Don’t worry though, I’ll be back before tonight with something juicy.”

* * *

 

Once Brynjolf had departed, Loki sighed with relief. The tower was at peace once more, and he felt a little more relaxed for it. Loki ignited the stone fire pit in the centre of the room, letting the petite flames crackle sweetly, filling the room with a discreet light and sound. After warming his hands, he navigated back to the bedroom.

Unsurprisingly, you hadn’t moved. Loki could feel himself getting desperate just watching you. He paced the floor for a while longer before stopping by the bookshelf which he grasped the edge of for support. His eyes rested on a title which was clothed in leather and decorated with its name, written in gold.

 _‘La Belle Au Bois Dormant’_.

You’d mentioned to him before that you’d been told the story as a child by your mother. Ignoring what Brynjolf had said about sensing nothing, Loki convinced himself that the emotions invoked by such a memory could stir you awake… He slid the book elegantly off the shelf and let it fall open in his hands. Each page bore a gorgeous oil painting within, depicting the described events. The book itself was a masterpiece to be treasured. Not particularly fluent in the tongue of this edition, however, Loki waved his hand over the top of the parchment, the words shimmering and shining until they’d been translated.

Loki lowered himself into a bedside chair and sat the book in his lap. He cleared his throat a couple of times. Why did he feel so nervous? Turning to the first page, he cleared his throat once more for good measure anyway.   
“Once… Once upon a time there lived a king and queen who were grieved, more grieved than words can tell, because they had no children. They tried the waters of every country, made vows and pilgrimages, and did everything that could be done, but without result. At last, however, the queen found that her wishes were fulfilled, and in due course she gave birth to a daughter…”

After a while, Loki found himself reading to you quite comfortably. He eventually reclined in his chair, crossed his legs, and embellished certain scenes with his hands.   
“Reclining upon a bed,” Loki looked over the top of the book at you, “the curtains of which on every side were drawn back, was a princess of seemingly some fifteen or sixteen summers, whose radiant beauty had an almost unearthly luster.”

Loki turned the book around to show your comatose form the oil painting within. It bore the image of a princess asleep in her bed, depicted in gorgeous golds and roses.   
“I’m sorry to say that you don’t look nearly as good unconscious as she does, but I suppose that’s why she gets her own book and you don’t,” he smirked, wishing you were awake to counter his insult. “In fact, I bet you also wish that you could paint half as well as this.”

You continued to sleep, and Loki frowned. After a curt sigh, he sunk back into his seat. He kept reading until he reached the iconic moment in which was the princess was awoken by the love of her saviour. ‘The less there is of eloquence, the more there is of love,’ the book read. Loki decided that he liked that line.

Before he could continue, Loki found his tongue stilled inexplicably. He peered briefly at you over the top of the book and felt his stomach jump. It was just a story, he told himself…

Loki eventually finished the book, but found himself distracted with a thought he couldn’t corral. Something was taking dominance in his mind besides the story. He rushed and rambled through the last few scenes, eager to close the book that had caused unrest in his mind. _Fin._ He jumped out of his seat and threw the book back onto the shelf, unable to turn around afterwards. Instead, he remained, staring at the woodwork and playing with the hem of his sleeve.  

It could work, he slowly convinced himself. He replayed the lines in his head, detailing the prince kissing the princess to awaken her.

If there was the potential that an act of love could break _his_ curse… perhaps it could also break yours. Loki strode out of the room to the window seat, peering outside. Nothing. Nobody. Good. The last thing he needed was Brynjolf walking in halfway and catching him doing something that would potentially appear… opportunistic.

Shaking out his nerves, Loki approached the bedside and lowered himself on one knee next to it. He wanted to say something, in case, for some reason, you _could_ hear him. He wanted to… warn you. Loki cleared his throat and tugged the hem of his sleeve again. At least this time he knew why he was nervous this time.

Deciding that kneeling on the floor was not the way to go about this, Loki sat himself next to you on the mattress, placing his hand on the pillow next to your resting head. He shut his eyes and began to lean in, before deciding that shutting his eyes was a bad approach, correcting himself, and trying again.

For several minutes, Loki deliberated with himself how best to proceed. His heart pounded like a raging bull. His face felt hot. At one point, he considered kissing only your cheek and hoping for the best. Eventually, however, he encouraged himself to take a leap of faith. Loki shook the tensions from his hands once more, and leaned in tentatively, closing the distance between his lips and yours–

–as your eyes slid slowly open.

Loki leapt suddenly off of the bed. He dove into the bedside chair and froze. All colour and warmth had drained from his face and he stared at his lap to avoid eye-contact with you. That was too close…

Sluggish with sleep, you tried to sit up on your elbows and look around, but you were still weak, and your head hit the pillow once more.  
“You’re awake,” Loki murmured, feigning indifference but still refusing to look at you. With the image of what he had _almost_ done still fresh in his head, he felt horror forming in every fibre of him. What had he been thinking?!  
“I daren’t ask but…” your stomach growled and you clutched it painfully, “how long was I out this time?”

Loki sucked in a deep breath, and smiled warmly, forcing himself to look at you. Still, his stomach churned. He promptly ignored it.   
“Too long,” he said. You smiled appreciatively, and Loki leaned forward to take your hand. You patted it fondly. You were a bit too sleepy to care how uncharacteristically affectionate Loki was being.

He opened his mouth to speak, but someone else’s voice came out – from the next room over. You sat bolt upright.   
“Hoo boy, I caught me a good one! Get your sad ass in here, pal, we’re eating good tonight!” the voice bellowed with a deep, hearty chuckle afterwards. You turned to look at Loki with wide, amused eyes and an incredulous smile.  
“Who is that?” you mouthed.

Loki put his hands over his face. He made a mental note to burn his copy of _‘La Belle Au Bois Dormant’_ later that day.


	19. Chapter 19

Brynjolf looked up when the bedroom door opened and broke into a toothy grin. You were stood in fresh clean clothes, leaning heavily on the door frame for support. Loki was about a foot behind you, frowning at the raucous dwarf from afar.  
“Hey, lady!” He roared with a skin-cracking smile. “Look who’s up and at ‘em.” You waved triumphantly and then stumbled, Loki catching you just in time and helping you to stand upright. Sliding your arm around his shoulders, he helped you hobble into the room. Very different from the last time you couldn’t walk, you noted to yourself…

“I… I don’t believe we’ve met,” you said as you were lowered into the window seat on the other side of the firepit. A dead pig was spitting and crackling over the flames. The smell was indescribable. Your stomach growled again.  
“Oh, I do be beggin’ your pardon, lady. I’m Brynjolf.”

You spied the crossbow on his shoulder and briefly remembered the way the bodies of the men had slumped with ease.  
“You… You saved my life, didn’t you? You’re the reason I made it home.”

Brynjolf skipped with glee and then bowed theatrically. “At the risk of soundin’ big-headed: you’re god damn right that was me! Shot the bastards right between the eyes, bang, bang, bang!” He threw his head back and laughed, clutching his belly as he did so. The joy of this man was infectious and you found yourself smiling too. Loki’s expression suggested he wasn’t as inclined to agree.

Once he’d finished chuckling to himself, Brynjolf picked up a crossbow bolt and used it as a poker, stoking the flames underneath his prize kill.  
“I hope you don’t mind me stickin’ around like. I was waiting for ye’ to wake up before I left you ‘ere with this one. Poor husband musta been lost without ye’.”  
“For the last time, dwarf, I’m not her husband,” Loki sighed as he sat himself next to you.

Brynjolf raised an eyebrow and you shrugged innocently.  
“He’s right. We’re friends,” you said. Loki turned to look at you, wide eyes the only indicator of what he was feeling.  
“We… We are?”

You smiled warmly at him.  
“Of course we are.” Loki found himself grinning. He hadn’t realised you felt that way. He had a friend. Noticing the emotion in his eyes, you leaned in and whispered, “What did you think we were? Sworn enemies with a backwards living arrangement?”

Brynjolf overhead and chuckled lowly at your joke. You turned to face him once more.  
“And for the record, he mightn’t have helped you now, but Loki’s already saved my life once.” Before Loki had time to be confused, you slipped your hand into his and squeezed it unreservedly, seeking support for what you were about to discuss. “After my mother died, I don’t know what I’d have done but Loki took me in without hesitation.”

“Ah, I see,” Brynjolf said as he tossed a few vegetables onto the fire too. “This whole living situation makes a tad more sense now.”  
“Good,” you replied. “Though I wouldn’t ask any more questions if I were you; Loki gets crabby when you do that.”

Frowning, Loki pulled his hand out of yours, eliciting light laughter from his two companions.

* * *

 

Conversation flowed easily over what you’d have happily called the best meal of your life. It might have been the near-starvation talking but it certainly tasted better than anything you could remember eating recently. However, as good as the food was, your appetite was admittedly finite. Everyone admitted to being tired and decided to retreat to their respective sleeping quarters.

Brynjolf was apparently quite happy to snooze in the bedroom chair, offering you the entirety of the bed to rest in, whilst Loki contented himself in the window seat. Once again, he found himself staring at the stars… or rather, one large star in particular.

“I don’t know what came over me,” he said softly, leaning on the windowsill with his head in his hand. “I keep trying to tell myself that I almost did what I did because I wanted to help, because she’s my friend and I wanted her to be well again, but it doesn’t feel like the truth. There’s more to it, I know there is.” After a small exhalation, he began to chuckle lightly. “I remember the last time I saved her life, I had to convince myself that I wasn’t _really_ helping, that I had to have some ulterior motive. Look how far I’ve come, father. Genuinely helping people? Neither you nor I ever thought that possible…”

The star glittered against its navy backdrop, flecks of cyan and orange just visible in the far distance. Even though Loki knew it wasn’t really his father, he could still hear the commanding voice in his ears. A nearby star that shone just a little brighter spoke like his mother, whispering tender words of wisdom. They’d both made assumptions about Loki’s motives; the same assumption.  
“I know how it looks, and I know what you must be thinking, but… that’s just not true. And even if…”

Loki sighed curtly.  
“Look, I'm not saying I do - because I don't - but _if_ I did..." He sighed again. "If I felt something for her, I don't know that I'd trust myself, that I'd trust the honesty of my emotions. She certainly wouldn't! If she ever found out the criteria for my release, she'd never believe that my feelings were true. She knows enough of my nature that showing any affection would appear self-serving, that I would just be trying to provoke my own emancipation." He suddenly chuckled and smiled to himself, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear. "And yet, I'm not at all worried. I think that's how I know my feelings _could be_ real - because I don't need to know if she feels the same. It is enough to just be here with her. It no longer feels like I'm trapped."

“Who are you talking to?” You asked sleepily. Loki jumped. You were stood in the bedroom doorway, with mussed hair and wrinkled bedclothes.  
“How much of that did you hear?” He snapped, suddenly defensive.  
“Oh calm down, you’re a terrible mumbler, I didn’t hear a thing,” you yawned, stepping further into the room and sitting down on the edge of the firepit. Some of the extinguished embers were still hot enough to warm you pleasantly. “Why? What were you saying?”

“Nothing of importance. I was… just thinking aloud. Why are you up so late?” He asked, turning to face you fully and hoping his sly change of topic had gone unnoticed.  
“I had to use the bathroom,” you said, “though it wasn’t easy. Brynjolf fell out of his chair at some point during the night. I almost fell over the sleeping fool.”  
“Does you stomach fare any better?” He asked. You nodded and rubbed your right eye with the ball of your hand.  
“Much. I think it’ll take a few more days of ruffage to fix my insides but I’m certainly on the mend. That pig did not die in vain.”  
“Good.”

With a long, loud yawn, you stretched and scratched your back drowsily. Loki smiled with admiration.  
“Well, I should be getting back to bed,” you said, making to stand.  
“Actually, may I… if you have a moment, may I have a word with you?”

You froze and looked at Loki analytically. He shuffled and put his back against the end of the window seat, patting the cushion at the other end innocently. What game was he playing? You thought as you trudged over. Rather than sitting where he’d indicated, you positioned yourself in the centre, leaning back between his legs and resting your head against his chest.

“Oh, um-” He cleared his throat. You looked up at him.  
“I’m not sitting there,” you told him pointedly. “Whatever you’re keeping me out of bed for, I want to be comfortable enough to hear it.”  
“I see…” He said, feeling his heart pounding. He blamed your impetuosity on your lack of sleep.  
“Talk quickly,” you instructed him, knowing you didn’t have the energy to stay awake long.

“Right. Yes. Well, you asked me once what I did to become trapped here. I can't bring myself to hide it from you any longer. I want to be open with you, to be honest. So: I... I am what you'd call a war criminal. The realm of Midgard... I attacked it with an army of Chitauri. We almost won; I almost ruled an entire planet... but my brother and his friends foiled my scheme. I was arrested, trialled, and sentenced."

"That's..." You yawned loudly. "That's not surprising."  
"I- What?"  
"It doesn't surprise me at all that you buggered up royally to get in here - or did you think I hadn't assumed the absolute worst about you when we met? Of course you were being damned stupid. That’s all you’re ever doing, Loki."  
"You're... not horrified by me?"  
"Well, at first I was wary, sure, but I think you've done your time, and then some. Is that all you wanted to tell me? Can I go back to bed now?"

Loki smiled incredulously, feeling a surge of confidence. He’d hoped that by telling you who he was that he’d finally push you away, so that he could permanently discard all his feelings towards you, but… your reaction was quite the opposite to that which he’d expected. In reacting thusly, you’d suddenly validated everything he thought he felt about you; all whilst you were sat in his lap with folded arms, trying to keep a heavy head from dropping.  
“I... No... I’m not finished. Because I haven't told you the worst part. Despite all I tried to do to those people, despite knowing deep down that I would lose, that it was the wrong thing to do, I... I don't regret it. Even now, after my sentence. If I could do it again then I would. It's the reason I'm still in here.

“Or rather _one_ of the reasons I'm still in here. You also asked me the terms of my imprisonment and I claimed they were impossible. Back then I assumed as much was true, but now I'm... I'm reconsidering. In order to earn my freedom, I must either learn to regret my actions and the events upon Midgard, or… I must learn to love someone other than myself. Truly. Wholeheartedly. Selflessly.

"And I must be loved in return. That's the catch, you see. I know it must be the case because I've already fallen for... for someone. I've fallen quite deeply. I knew it was a possibility when you first fell into my life but it was for that same reason I pushed you away at every opportunity. I didn't trust myself to fall for you without selfish intentions. Now I can see that I underestimated myself.

"I no doubt waste my breath in telling you everything I’ve wrestled with all this time. The likelihood of a monster like me ever being so lucky as to earn the love of someone like you is quite slim. However I-" You snored gently and rolled over in your sleep. Had Loki not caught you, there was a good chance you’d have rolled off the seat altogether. Had you been asleep for the whole time?

Loki wasn’t sure how much you’d heard but he decided quickly that it was for the best. What was he thinking, trying to tell you how he felt? What he was about to say – the feelings that he thought he had – were built upon a foundation of uncertainty and cemented with self-doubt. It was not sustainable, and he knew that. To have confessed anything of the sort to you would do more harm than good, especially given that he knew not how _you_ felt. If you didn’t return his feelings, and he later discovered the actuality of his own, then he’d have ruined any chances he had of being with you. However, if you did reciprocate… whatever this was, but he one day realised that his feelings amounted to nothing, he’d end up hurting you. That was the last thing he wanted.

No, he concluded. It was not safe to be saying these things. Not until he was sure. In the meantime, perhaps he could ignore them and they’d crawl back into whatever hole they spawned from. Perhaps by denying them, he could be free of his feelings and of the pain they brought with them.

Loki adjusted his seating position so that you could sleep more comfortably. Eventually, he turned his gaze to the stars once more. The largest star was glowing even brighter now.  
“Wherever you are, father, I don’t doubt that you are laughing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart by [@loser-magoo](https://loser-magoo.tumblr.com/post/169414041996/littlemisssyreid-well-here-you-are-another):  
> 


	20. Chapter 20

When you awoke the next morning, you realised quickly that you were not in your bed where you remembered falling asleep. Why… Why were you in the window seat? Where was–

“Good morning,” Loki chuckled, noting the entertaining expression of confusion written on your face. He was sat at the writing desk and slowly slid the topmost drawer shut. It looked as though he was trying to be sly – and failing.  
“Good…” You wiped a little drool from the side of your mouth and groaned. Gross. “Good morning.”  
“You heard me muttering to myself last night,” Loki explained and everything came back in spades. “I… I confessed a thing or two to you, though I don’t know what of it you remember.”

You counted the topics on your finger.  
“You’re a war criminal, you need to regret it to get out of here, and you’re madly in love with me.”

Loki froze, his heart rate rocketing. “What?”  
“Kidding! Oh my, you should see your face,” you snickered, rolling around with laughter. Loki felt at risk of a cardiac arrest. He attempted to chuckle casually but knew that his panic-stricken face would sooner give him away. Whilst you were distracted with laughing at your own joke, he crossed the room, heading for the bedroom.  
“Now we’re both awake, I’m going to try and wake our beloved guest too. He should be leaving.”

Loki’s sudden departure offered you the opportunity to wake up properly. Despite how awkward sleeping in a window seat _should_ have been, you felt oddly rested. You yawned, stretched, and rolled your shoulders before standing up. You could feel a case of pins and needles beginning to manifest in your legs so you walked a few times around the fire pit, eventually ending up at the writing desk. The drawer that you’d caught Loki closing seemed to beckon you closer, whispering temptations to you… What had he been writing?  

Your nosiness had gotten you into trouble with Loki in the past; for a moment, this stilled your hand. However, surely he could have no anger in your reading what he’d left lying around so freely. Even as you pulled the drawer open, you knew that ‘lying around’ was stretching the truth just a tad. Nonetheless, you removed the pile of parchment from within and examined them. Loki’s handwriting was unsurprisingly calligraphic.

Your eyes scanned the documents, feeling your heart begin to race as you realised what you were reading. These were… letters to his brother! Loki was… He was going to reach out to Thor! Each letter was slightly different to its predecessor. In one he apologised for not having reached out sooner; in another he explained in detail how his father was to blame for his imprisonment.

The final letter you perused held all manner of emotions – everything from apologies, to explanations, to directions as best as he could remember to his current location. The same letter mentioned you, describing you flatteringly as a friend who was near and dear to his heart. You smiled sweetly to read such things. They could’ve been a lot worse words, after all…

This last letter was the better of the three, you decided.

A strange sound in the window drew your attention as you finished the last letter; had it not been so intrusive, your gaze would not have been torn away from the letters so easily.

The sound was made by a bird.

A large raven about 2-foot-tall perched gallantly in the open window of the tower. It cawed again and you jumped with surprise. Evidently this creature was accustomed to humans. You noticed a gold ring on its foot, which set your mind to work. This wasn’t just a regular raven… It was a messenger. Surely this was more than just a coincidence.

You looked again at the letters in your hand and bit your lip. This could either be a very bad idea or…

Hurriedly, you turned back to the writing desk and used the quill to scribble an address onto the back of your favourite letter. You then folded it accordingly and faced the raven again. It watched you curiously with two beady black eyes and a tilted head. Even if its homing beacon wasn’t the palace, it would still return to a messenger who could pass the note along.

Slowly, you approached the bird, holding out your hand encouragingly, but keeping your eyes fixated on the golden leg ring…

* * *

 

Brynjolf wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you clean off your feet in a back-breaking hug. You laughed nervously; Loki rolled his eyes.  
“She’s only just survived this week and already you’re going to kill her,” he said, leaning against the open doorway, hoping to encourage his guest to leave a little faster. Eventually, Brynjolf dropped you to the floor with braying laughter. You rubbed your lower back sorely, but waved off Loki’s concern.  
“Ignore him,” you beamed. “He’s just miserable in the mornings. Let me walk you downstairs.”

Insulted by your words, Loki left the two of you to descend the tower alone, making for the writing desk once more. You said a little prayer in hopes that he wouldn’t open the top drawer. Thankfully, he pulled out a fresh piece of paper and picked up the quill.

“I’m glad you’re alright, lady,” Brynjolf said as the two of walked. “I don’t know what I’d have done if our stuff had sodded you up properly.”  
“Probably found the culprit’s corpses and shot them again for good measure.” He laughed heartily and slapped you on the back. You had to grab the railing to prevent yourself tumbling down the remaining steps.  
“Oh! But that does remind me – I want you to have something.”

Wriggling it off of his shoulder, Brynjolf held his crossbow with both hands and offered it to you.  
“Your… Your crossbow?”  
“She’s all yours if you want her. I wouldn’t trust her to just anyone, but I figure you’re in dire need of a way to kill food. Plus, if you take care of her, she’ll take care of you too. Even if you can’t fire the damn thing, the sight of her should make folks think twice about creeping up on ye’.”

“Brynjolf, I…” You hesitantly accepted the crossbow like it was a newborn child. At least for now it certainly felt more valuable than one.  
“And I’ll be checking in on her from time to time,” he said with a sad smile. “Want to make sure you’re treating my girl right, after all, and not just using her as kindling the first chance ye’ get.”

“I promise you Brynjolf,” you said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll guard her with my life.”  
“Here’s hoping it never comes to that,” he smiled again.

The two of you reached the bottom of the tower and you felt sad to know that Brynjolf was leaving. The tower would feel emptier without him, you wagered. It would certainly be quieter without someone laughing boisterously at all your jokes. You’d even miss the way he scratched behind his ear with his hand like a dog would his foot. Brynjolf was truly a fantastic man – and judging by this act of generosity, an understated gentleman.

You shouldered the crossbow, making a mental note to name her later on.  
“If you’re thinking of returning, might I ask a favour of you? Already you’ve done so much for me, so I would understand if you declined.”  
“Ask me first and I’ll let ye’ know,” he replied.

“There’s a village half a day’s walk east from here – my hometown. Would you buy me something from the marketplace? It’s a gift for Loki so you must keep it a secret. Don’t tell anybody you meet that you’re buying on my behalf.”  
“What do ye’ need?” He asked.

You whispered in his ear, for fear of Loki’s eavesdropping and Brynjolf smirked. When he saw the sincerity in your eyes, however, he gently harrumphed.  
“You’re a good lady,” he surmised. “What you’re doing with that sack of sour stones up there, I’ll never know.”  
“If you figure that out between now and your next visit, feel free to tell me. I’d be interested to know as well,” you winked at him.

After waving Brynjolf to the forest’s edge, you piled up the icy bricks once more and jaunted to the tower’s summit. The climb left you a little light-headed on account of how weak you still felt. When Loki came looking, he found you sat on the top step, breathing heavily.  
“I knew you were too weak for the climb,” he sighed, catching your attention.  
“But you didn’t say anything because you were sulking about what I said to Brynjolf,” you said between breaths.

“Just for that comment,” he smirked, “I’m confining you to bed. You need rest.” Loki stepped out into the stair well, put his arms under your legs and lower back, and lifted you clean off of the floor. You protested with cries about ‘just catching your breath’ but Loki ignored your objections – and the indignant beating of your fists against his shoulder. In his right mind, Loki would’ve just thrown you over his shoulder, but this technique afforded you a little more dignity.

He tossed you comically onto the bed before dusting his hands against each other. He looked quite smug as you glared at him fiercely over your shoulder.  
“Oh, don’t start,” he chuckled, putting his hands on his hips. “You and I both know that you need to recover.”  
“Fine, but I’m getting into bed because I want to, and not because you told me to,” you muttered bitterly.

“Sure,” he said, rolling his eyes, crossing the room, and closing the bedroom door behind him.

* * *

 

Loki checked in on you a few hours later, happy to see you that you were snoozing peacefully. Though he couldn’t describe it, there was definitely a noticeable difference to how you were sleeping currently and how you’d slept under the influence of the knockout bomb. One sight certainly worried him less. He stepped lightly into the room and approached you, checking your temperature and your pulse for good measure.

His mind began to torture him with the images of your nearing face as he’d made to… ‘save’ you the day prior. How arrogant had he been to assume such an act would’ve worked?

Loki leaned in once more and gently kissed your cheek instead, telling himself that it was just to help his own state of mind. Immediately the source of his turmoil ceased and his mind was filled only with how soft your skin felt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart by [@awkward-fangirl-artist](https://awkward-fangirl-artist.tumblr.com/post/169740831337/littlemisssyreid-so-i-read-what-you-put-on-the):  
> 


	21. Chapter 21

Loki awoke the next morning to the sound of hushed movement. He opened his eyes and caught you pulling a cloak onto your shoulders and attempting to sneak out of the door with your wicker basket in hand.  
“Where…” he groaned, sitting up, “Where are you going?”

You froze. Your fingers lingered on the door handle, but kept your feet moving at a snail’s pace, hoping you might still be able to slither out of the doorway.  
“I’m just… going for a walk,” you said nonchalantly.  
“You’re going foraging again, aren’t you?” Loki stretched and sat up properly. Admittedly there was still leftover meat stored in a makeshift fridge, and your vegetable supply was looking pretty healthy. However, the proactive part of you knew that by going out today, you wouldn’t need to forage again for another week! The opportunity was too tantalising to pass up.

“Just a smidge,” you confessed with a guilty grin. Loki rolled his eyes.  
“You know what I’m going to say, don’t you?”  
“I’m too weak, I need rest, and the forest is too dangerous – what if I’m attacked again?”  
“And…?”  
“And I’d say that I feel fine, I can rest when I’m back, and I’ve got a crossbow now.”

Rolling his eyes, Loki knew there was nothing he could do to stop you, mostly because you were already halfway out the door.  
“Don’t come crying to me when it all goes wrong,” he sighed. Your face lit up.  
“If not to listen to my moaning, then what’s the point of having you?”

You shouted a goodbye to him as you ran down the staircase, promising that you’d be back before dusk. Loki simply smiled. He settled back against his window seat and let the sun warm his face.

* * *

 

True to your word, you were almost finished with foraging by noon. A cloudless sky allowed the high sun to beat down upon the woodland, lighting up the branches and brush like stars in an emerald twilight and casting shadows everywhere else.

Your basket was heavier than usual as you’d discovered a few hotspots for good, fresh food. You stopped to rest against a tree momentarily, looking up at the sky so you could begin navigating your way home.

At the sound of commotion amongst the trees, you jumped. Not about to take any chances, you pulled the crossbow from your back and took aim at the animated greenery. You steadied your breathing; you closed one eye; you dusted the trigger with your finger. The person who emerged from the foliage was the last person you ever expected to see.

The woman’s skin looked like untanned leather – wrinkled but soft. Her hooked nose stuck out of her face like a tentpole, and her mouth was curled down on both sides. Glassy, grey eyes watched you unconcernedly. Their monochromatic colour was not unlike that of her hair which bore lines of silver throughout. A thin, black gossamer shawl wound from the crook of her left arm, over her head, and around her right arm.

So focused on her appearance were you, that you failed to noticed the two men who had suddenly flanked you, also wielding crossbows. The woman extended a crooked hand from under her ebony attire, extending her palm.  
“Lower your weapon, child. No blood need be shed here.”

You were a little hesitant, but ultimately you gave in to familiarity and dropped your crossbow. The woman dropped her hand and pulled it back under her cloak. As instructed, the men mimicked your compliance. You bowed your head and respectfully dropped to one knee.

Jarle’s mother bid you to stand.

“Finally,” she sighed heavily, with lungs that sounded like dusty bellows. “I have found you at last.”  
“Ma’am?” You asked once on your feet again.  
“You seem well. I assume by your complexion – and your belongings – that you are keeping fed and healthy.”  
“I am, ma’am, but...” You looked around in disbelief. “Why… How are you here?”

The woman shook her head.  
“Forgive me; after you disappeared, I hired a few men to look for you. As it happens, it was money wasted. The fools couldn't find gold if I threw it at them - and I did. Jarle believes that I am out of town visiting relatives but I hired a carriage to search for you myself. These gentlemen are here to protect me but the tracking I did myself, I’ll have you know. We found a small pig trotting around with one of your old dresses in its mouth – we retraced its steps and here you are!"

At the realisation you could’ve been tracked all the way to the tower, your heart rate increased exponentially. What would this woman have done if she’d found you? The secret of your hideaway would be out.  
“Am I permitted to ask why you searched for me?”  
“Of course. I needed to know you were safe.”

Hearing such words from a woman who’d once told you that she hoped to be rid of you by the end of the year was startling to say the least.  
“I don’t understand. You hate me,” you said, smiling incredulously. This had to be some sort of joke. Jarle’s mother cackled.  
"I don’t hate you. It is true I've made no secret of the fact that I thought you were a waste to our village. What I've kept to my chest is why; you have talent, my dear. That poultice you made me?” She stuck out her ankle and revealed that the bruising from which she’d suffered was all but gone. “I’ve seen no healer make anything like it. It’s the reason I’m able to make this journey at all. You take after myself in fortitude of the mind where our people favour strength. After all, they banished me to my own home for thinking similarly. It wouldn’t have taken them long to do the same to you, I assure you. It may surprise you to know that I was much like you in my day."

You thought over everything that had happened in your time of knowing this woman – the first day Jarle had brought you home, she was… reserved, at best. Every day since, as she grew to know you more, she pulled further away. She might think that providing context made up for it all, but some things just didn’t add up. Some of the things she’d said to you could not be excused with good intent.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” you said, tapping your chin thoughtfully, “but I have no reason to be civil to you anymore so forgive my manners when I say that's total bullshit. You could’ve said something sooner. Why didn’t you?"  
“And risk it going to your head? Nonsense.” You sniffed.  
“If I am so like yourself, wouldn’t you have been able to tell whether or not it would go to my head? That’s more bullshit, as far as I’m concerned.”

Jarle’s mother smirked at this.  
“This quickness of wit – this mental agility – that is something you could never have learnt from me, no matter how much I wished you to be taught it. It is something you learnt yourself through resilience. I do not take responsibility for it, but I do know that by never having encouraged it, you benefited. It is an intelligence that Jarle never could’ve matched, had he married you.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. Jarle’s mother could see the wariness in your eyes and knew she had your attention. Her grey eyes glittered cunningly.  
“Yes, I know about that. I know you turned down my boy and…”  
“Let me guess,” you huffed, fear and frustration fuelling your outburst, “you think I was a fool too – like my father – that I could've used his status in the village to my advantage.”

“Not in the slightest,” Jarle’s mother snorted, looking almost offended to be lumped in with your father. “I thought that’s what I was doing when I married Jarle’s father and look at me now: a recluse widow with a pacifist, impressionable son. I love my boy, I do, but he does take after his father too much. He is born and bred of that village. He does not think for himself. He is too eager to please, even if it means pleasing absolutely everybody in that silly home of ours. You are better off as friends than as spouses. Believe me when I say that turning him down was most definitely the right decision, more so than you could possibly know.”

There was something that she wasn’t saying, some secret she was hiding and it made you reluctant to trust her. You rolled your eyes. Enough lies.  
“What are you here for, Elphina?”

Sighing curtly, Jarle’s mother straightened her posture once more, earning a marginally regal appearance.  
“You were right to say that I could’ve done more to protect you, to help you, but now is not the time to dwell on the past. Consider this me looking out for you now, though I hope you’ll accept my apology for it taking so long. I have news of your mother.”

Any retort you had was stolen straight off of your tongue. The world suddenly began to spin. You reached back to the tree behind you and used it to steady yourself. One of the henchman she’d hired looked to Jarle’s mother. She nodded and he rushed in to help you stand upright. You pushed him off, feeling slightly sick. Your mother?

“My boy, blind as he is, has good intentions. He postponed your mother’s funeral, hoping that you would return to be a part of it. He sent search party after search party to find you, alongside my own, but – as I’m sure you’re aware – none of them have succeeded. The villagers grew impatient. They’re holding her funeral tomorrow. I thought you would appreciate being privy to this information.”

You’d built many a mental structure to cope with your mother’s passing, to find peace. The more this woman spoke, the faster and harder they fell. You stumbled again, and the henchman placed his hands under your arms. She still hadn’t been laid to rest? All of this time her soul suffered in purgatory because you hadn’t been there. All of this time she’d suffered because you’d left.

“I understand the distress that this information will have caused you, the thought of your mother lying unburied. I tried to convince Jarle to let the ceremony go ahead but-”  
“Stop blaming him,” you growled with a low head. The henchman closest to you seemed apprehensive of your voice’s timbre. Jarle’s mother shook her head to dismiss his concerns. “Stop blaming your son for trying to do the right thing. He may have let my mother lie unburied – but it was only because he thought I’d want to be there when she was laid to rest, and he was right! He’s not as blind as you think he is, not as much of a fool as you’d like to make him out. If he was so thoughtless, he’d be a whole lot worse having been raised by you.”

The elderly woman raised her chin indignantly. You staggered towards her, drunk on rage and spitting each word like it was venom.  
“You could’ve helped me. If you thought I was in so much danger in that village, _you_ could’ve helped me escape. Why do you only feel responsible now, hm? You think you’re doing me some great service… Bah! You’re covering your arse! You think that if you’d acted sooner, things wouldn’t have happened the way they did, and there wouldn’t be a corpse lying unburied in _your_ town _._ Don’t try to pin the mistakes of your past on that of a man who is trying his best to secure himself a future.”

“You know not of what you speak. I judge my son harshly so he can see his own potential.”  
“You judge him harshly because you’ve got nothing better to do,” you snarled. “Because your life went so poorly that your only hope for happiness is living vicariously through a man that’s loved by everyone he meets.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed slightly and you knew that you’d perhaps gone a step too far. You didn’t care at this point. Your mother’s body lay rotting somewhere; Jarle had acted thinking only of you, and his own mother was trying to undermine that because it tampered with _tradition_.  
“Your mother’s funeral is tomorrow,” she said lowly. “They shall light the boat at dusk and send her down the river on the eastern side of the village. Approach from that side if you wish not to be seen. Nobody knows of your whereabouts and despite how you have spoken to me today, it shall stay that way unless I am permitted by you to do otherwise.”

Picking up her skirt, the woman turned and made to leave.  
“I am sorry you feel that I have failed you, and that I am unfair upon my kin. Perhaps you are right, and I shall take on board the facts of your argument. But as for the village…” She turned to look at you over her shoulder and her eyes spoke once more of the terrible secret she could not seem to share. “Do not speak of what you do not know. There is far more corruption in that place than you are aware of. It seeded itself long ago, branching out in all directions, and claiming all it could. Everybody from the innocent to the ignorant has been touched by it. Even now it threatens to claim my son, though he does not yet know it. No matter what you see tomorrow, nor who implores you to stay, promise me that you shall not return to that accursed town.”

“If the corruption you speak of is so terrible, then tell me! Why can you not describe it to someone who no longer lives there, who is free of its wrath?”  
“Because you would not believe me if I did,” she said solemnly. “I am not so disillusioned as to believe that you are wholly free of it yet. The corruption runs freely and still has a way to reach you… and one day I suspect that it will. Just promise me you shall not give it the chance by returning voluntarily.”

“I… I promise,” you found yourself stunned into saying. You had more questions than answers but that was hardly on your mind currently.  
“Then perhaps,” she sighed, smiling thinly at you, “perhaps I have at last saved you from something.”

* * *

 

The king of Asgard had a personal library, attached to the north-eastern wall of his sleeping quarters. In recent years, Thor had found it a place for profound and peaceful thought, of which he was experiencing now. Sat in a red, velvet chair, he gazed wistfully out of a nearby window as the sun began to set. This year’s festivities had been as successful as the last, but something had been distracting him throughout. Namely, you.

In the back of his mind, he wondered whether he should’ve at least investigated your claims. It wasn’t unlike Loki to participate in such macabre tricks. Perhaps it wasn’t out of the question to assume his death had been… exaggerated. But that would make his father a liar too, something Thor just didn’t want to believe.

It had been hard enough wrestling with the councils when applying to hold a festival in his brother’s memory. Nobody wanted to see him as anything other than a criminal. Years later, however, and they’d finally been convinced. With each passing year, the festival was slowly allowing the public to remember the cheeky, mischievous prince they’d once adored. For Loki to reappear now would not present him favourably.

Thor groaned as his thoughts conflicted with one another. Had he done the right thing? Or had he acted too brashly?

A gentle knock at the door granted him a moment’s peace and he turned swiftly around, beckoning his visitor indoors.  
“A message for you, sir,” said the guard, marching indoors and placing the battered script onto the desk in the monarch’s hand. Thor examined the scribbled handwriting.  
“When… When did this arrive?” He asked.  
“One of our birds went missing on the way back to the palace approximately last week. It finally returned this morning, with this tied to its leg. As you can see, it’s addressed to you personally.”

Thor hummed and smiled curiously. He dismissed the guard and settled back into his chair, unrolling the parchment.

 _Dearest brother,_ the letter began.

_I cannot express to you the difficulty with which I write these words. For many years I have awaited rescue, or a search party, perhaps on your behalf. I grew impatient; bitter, twisted, and resentful. However, in recent times, it has occurred to me that you either stopped looking… or never started. I cannot say I blame you. Though I still struggle to regret my actions specifically – the traumas of a childhood undone still fuelling much of my anger – I recognise that they were reprehensible in the highest form. What I do regret is any pain I caused you, any turmoil._

_I do not know how much you’ve been told about what happened to me, but I suppose you are owed the truth, if nothing else. My sentence was at first what you knew it to be – a prison for the rest of my days. However, our… your father – for whatever reason – decided to have it changed. Here I sit, in a tower of my own blood, awaiting some form of liberation. If you should be interested in visiting, I lie not far from a small marketing town, westward bound – or so I am told._

_You see I have recently earnt the companionship of a very capable woman. She brings me food, she cares for me, and sees that I care for myself on the days I would surely perish. She also keeps me humble (by being infuriatingly smart, I can assure you). I should very much like you to meet her if you should be so inclined. I don’t doubt the two of you would be compatible. She is a good woman._

_I am most certain that you shall never see this letter, brother-mine. However, should I one day be so lucky…_

_I hope you are well._

_Loki_

With tears in his eyes, Thor crushed the paper betwixt a fist and sniffed. That wretched woman from the forest! There was not a single doubt in his mind that she was behind this tempestuous letter. For it to be merely a few days after she’d initially attempted to distress him could be no coincidence.

Thor called for a guard and demanded that a small party of trusted individuals be gathered for immediate departure.  
“For what purpose, your highness?” The guard asked. Crossing the room, the king marched from the room with fire on his heels.  
“An arrest. We have a fugitive that desires immediate capture.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart by [@loser-magoo](https://loser-magoo.tumblr.com/post/169802135396/alrighty-well-ok-i-did-a-thing):  
> 


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you fancy it, I made a little Spotify playlist inspired by this tale.  
> [ Find it here.](https://open.spotify.com/user/littlemisssyreid/playlist/10BataM8aEKWlpBDEmjxum)

Your fingers lingered over the door handle. Everything felt heavy; your basket, the crossbow on your shoulder, even your heart. Each breath felt like it was being drawn through a straw. You rubbed your nose with the back of your hand, letting out a small sniffle as you tried to convince yourself to enter.

Before you could work up the courage, however, the door opened of its own accord. Loki smiled curtly.  
“I didn’t realise you detested my company so much that you’d rather hide behind this door than face me.”

 _Thud!_ The sound of your basket hitting the floor echoed throughout the entire tower. You covered your face with both hands and burst into tears. Loki’s mouth fell open and he looked left and right in desperation. Was it something he’d said?

It took him a minute to realise that your upset was not his doing, at which point he stepped closer and patted your head awkwardly. He _really_ didn’t know what to do with himself when you cried.  
“What-” He cleared his throat, apprehension having got the better of him. “What happened?”

You choked a little sob and turned away from him, trying to wipe away your sadness as embarrassment coloured your cheeks. Loki stepped closer.  
“I know what I said…” He spoke softly. _Don’t come crying to me when it all goes wrong._ “But you have to believe that I didn’t mean it in such a way.”

Pulling your hands from your face, you stared at him with swollen eyes turned pink with tears.  
“I… I miss my mother,” you wept between gasped breaths.

Loki’s heart broke. Your words pierced his ice-encrusted soul, melting him both inside and out. Not knowing what else to do, he held his arms wide to you once more. It had seemed to comfort you the last time. With a sad, appreciative smile, you threw yourself into Loki’s embrace. He’d not anticipated the force with which you’d accept his offer and Loki stumbled back a little. In steadying himself, his arms ended up around your waist, holding you closer to him.

Eventually he accustomed to the situation he’d invited, rubbing your lower back with one hand and moving the other to stroke your hair. At the sound of your gentle weeping, he could feel a tear of his own being shed.

“I miss my mother too,” he whispered.

* * *

 

Eventually, when your crying had all but stopped, Loki was able to guide you into the main room with an arm around your shoulders. He picked up your basket on the way. Once you were sat comfortably in the window seat, he disappeared to the bathroom and returned shortly after with a damp cloth. You obediently closed your eyes and allowed him to relieve the soreness from your eyelids and cheeks. He mopped up any new tears that surfaced at the same time.

“Would you like to talk about it?” He asked softly once he’d finished. Loki couldn’t begin to fathom quite what had spurred your distress but he also didn’t want to hazard a guess.  
“I suppose I should tell you,” you said with a quivering sigh.

Loki listened in silence, politely letting you detail what had occurred in the forest that day – everything from the facts concerning your mother’s funeral, to what you’d been thinking throughout it all. By the time you’d finished, his face was grave. He’d clasped his hands together and pressed his lips to his knuckles.  

“I suppose you want to-” Loki caught himself making assumptions and stopped to try again. “What… do you want to do with this information?” You ran a hand through your hair and looked out of the window. The world was slipping slowly into night-time.  
“Nothing,” you sighed. “I mean, nothing at the moment. It’s too late to be going anywhere, and I’m not in the right state of mind to be making decisions anyway.”  
“I… agree with that assessment.”

Nothing more was to be said on the subject, Loki quickly realised. The two of you ate in silence that night, soaking in the warmth of the fire and spending time solely with your thoughts. You eventually took yourself to bed without another word.

Loki spent most of the night staring at the stars, conversing with them silently. He couldn’t believe what had happened. Firstly, your mother had been left unburied after her death – a thought that made his stomach turn. Had it been his own mother, he’d have burnt that village to the ground. But then the woman whose son was responsible – at least in his eyes – purposefully hunted you down and sought you out, with the intention of telling you this, as if she was doing you a favour? As if it wouldn’t cause you insurmountable amounts of pain?

With a bitter smirk, Loki awarded himself a pat on the back for encouraging you to leave that village. When he remembered how you’d fallen to pieces in his arms, his heart hurt again. Should he ever get the chance, he would personally see to the town’s destruction.

It wasn’t a surprise to see how you were dressed when morning finally arrived. A dark cloak and hood were covering your shoulders, and you held a basket packed with provisions. Brynjolf’s crossbow sat comfortably on your shoulder. At the sound of the bedroom door opening, Loki’s head turned slightly.  
“I… I have to…”  
“I know,” he said softly. Why did he feel so forlorn to see you dressed for an excursion?

Hoping to avoid an awkward conversation, you made for the exit swiftly. Despite knowing it was the right choice, you didn’t feel brave enough to be going to your mother’s funeral; having only just begun to make peace with her passing, the thought of having such emotions resurfaced was physically sickening. You’d been thrust once more into the fray of your grief. You reminded yourself that not going would make you feel worse in the long run, but the biter advice did little to help your state of mind.  

Your hand touched the door frame, when Loki’s voice called out to you.  
“You’ll be safe, won’t you?” He called. You turned to look at him with a grateful smile. He was sliding out of the window seat to approach you.  
“Of course, I will. I’ve got Duchess with me.”  
“Duchess?”  
“The…” You turned your head away with an embarrassed smirk. “The crossbow, Loki.”

“You’re calling her Duchess?” He chuckled wryly, folding his arms.  
“Do you have a problem with that name?”  
“Yes, it’s ridiculous!”

The laughter escaped you before you could stifle it. Though only small and frail, it felt wrong on your tongue. You shouldn’t be feeling a morsel of joy right now. Loki could see the conflict in your eyes and longed to help. He wished he could go with you.  
“Are you sure you’ll be alright? Two days is a long time.”  
“I don’t have a choice, Loki,” you sighed. “They won’t hold the funeral until it’s dark enough to see the flames, and I can’t travel back during the night. It’s too dangerous.”

Loki shook his head and bit his lower lip.  
“I don’t like it,” he muttered. “Can you not return to your father’s house? Just for one night? It would be safer to stay in the village, as loathed as I am to admit it.”  
“You really think they’d let me leave again if I did return?” Loki dropped his head. Of course they wouldn’t. He knew that. He knew it had been stupid to suggest it. And yet…

“I don’t want you to leave,” he said with tired eyes.  
“It’s not like I’m never coming back,” you smiled at him. “This is my home now, Loki. I’ll always come back.”

After a gentle nod, Loki watched you turn around and open the main door. You’d barely been gone a second when you dropped the basket and rushed back inside, throwing your arms around Loki’s neck. After squeezing him gently, you pulled yourself away, collected your supplies, and hurried hastily down the staircase.

Loki remained in pleasant shock long after you’d left.

* * *

 

Time ticked by slowly as you walked. The exercise was benefiting you mentally as well as physically; the brisk walk acting as an inexplicable cure to your warring mind.

Eventually, the sun was beginning to bow out of sight and the forest was bathed in a brilliant orange light. You had to be near the village by now, you thought. Sure enough, your ears caught the sound of a babbling brook which you knew carved the land between the forest and the neighbouring hamlet. The place you’d grown up…

Following the river brought you to a bridge which held aloft the road out of town. Further downstream, a gentle thrum of conversation could be heard. An inviting topaz glow could be seen in the distance, the sign of a gathered crowd.

You walked along the far side of the river, slowing as the conversation grew louder so as to remain quiet. Soon you could see the bobbing heads and moving bodies of the crowd that had gathered to attend your mother’s funeral. At the risk of sounding bitter, you surmised that half of them had only come to pay their respects in the hopes of removing the bad karma they’d accrued in letting her go unburied for so long.

Eventually you were stood directly opposite the village, hidden by the shadows of the forest but with a clear view of the procession. The funeral boat was crafted from half of a hollowed-out tree trunk, rising and falling slowly in the distance. Your stomach turned at the sight of your mother lying amongst the woodwork. Pale. Empty. Cold. She was so close, and yet so far from your reach.

Someone approached the edge of the boat with a small bouquet in their hands. The torchlight lit up a pair of copper eyes, and dirty blonde hair. Jarle leaned into the vessel and placed a few flowers either side of your mother’s body. He touched her wrist fondly and bowed his head. After murmuring a few unspoken words, he stepped away with his hands folded. You couldn’t help but notice that the tree had been empty before Jarle’s gift. You thanked him silently.

When he raised his head once more, his eyes fell in your direction, almost as if he’d heard you. His eyes searched the shadows for a person he hoped to see. You slipped gently behind a large tree just in case, your hand grazing against rough bark and just visible in the torch light. If Jarle did see you, he said nothing.

As he stepped into the river behind your mother’s coffin, Jarle’s clothing soaked up a large volume of freezing river water. Placing his hands on the roots, he pushed the boat with what appeared to be quite a bit of force. A small grunt escaped him just before the current picked up and began to carry the tree downstream as steadily as the setting sun.

For a moment, Jarle and yourself just watched the craft bob quietly away – until he yelled aloud:  
“Archers!”

The interior of the trunk burst into flame when the arrows hit. You quickly clutched your basket and began to follow, oblivious to Jarle’s gaze turning at the sound of movement…

Eventually, you’d caught up to your mother’s pyre. Safe from the villagers’ judging eyes, you walked alongside it, heat hitting the side of your face as you opened your mouth to speak.  
“It’s me, mother. I- I’m here,” was all you could muster at first. “And I’m… I just wanted to say how sorry I am. I shouldn’t have left you when I did. Of all the ways to react in such a situation, mine was… undignified, and selfish, not at all how you raised me. I- I know it means little now but for what it’s worth, I _am_ sorry.” There came no response; no sound except the crackle of flame.

That was until you heard a twig snap behind you. Whirling around, you eyed the dark shadows in the hope of spying the intruder before they could sneak up any further. However, your eyes were not trained for this darkness. Not in the slightest.

Cursing your cowardice, you leapt into nearby shadows as the figure stepped forward.  
“It’s like you said,” came a woman’s voice as she approached the fire. “Funeral. Just started by the looks of things.”  
“Perfect,” said another, a male, presumably a companion. “The sooner we can put it out, the more chance we’ve got of salvaging anything valuable.”

The thieves passed your hiding spot with a bucket, jumping into the river and immediately tossing water into the air. The flames hissed as they disappeared, the smell of the smoke fuelling the rage in your stomach instead. Slowly, you pulled the crossbow from your shoulder, and loaded an arrow.  
“Not on my watch,” you hissed as you lifted it aloft.  

The man was first to die, as he leaned into the boat to pilfer the necklace from around your mother’s neck. The bolt sunk into the back of his skull with a sickening wet crack. Had you not been so pleased with your aim, you’d have been quite disgusted.

When she saw her companion’s body slump over the edge of the boat, holding it steady, the woman froze.  
“Step away from the boat,” you called out to her. Instead, she spun around a few times, hoping to catch sight of you. Rolling your eyes, you fired a bolt, but missed and hit the root of the boat closest to her face.

The woman jumped out of her skin with a terrified yelp. Changing tactics, she began to pull at the grass on the riverbank, hoping to pull herself from the river and escape. Another bolt landed in the soil beside her.  
“Shit,” you muttered as you loaded another round.

“Please,” she begged to whoever would listen, “I meant no harm I-” This time the bolt hit the back of her neck. The life bled out of her slowly – gargling, hissing. You waited for her body to still before emerging from the shadows.

At the sight of her body, half in the river, half upon shore, you felt a sudden pang of guilt. You’d just killed this woman. This woman who had begged for her life, pleaded for mercy. She was frightened, and would’ve done you no harm. Anger had pulled the trigger where you could’ve spared her. Turning away, you grabbed a nearby branch to steady yourself as your back arched. You wretched horribly and spilled your stomach contents onto the forest floor.

It took a few moments but eventually you stopped shaking enough that you could turn back again. The sight of the man’s corpse helped steel you to your guilt. It reignited the burning hatred that you felt as you saw his thieving hand bleeding over your mother’s corpse.

Ignoring the churning of your stomach, you piled the bodies up onto the riverbank and cast a handful of dirt over the top of them, muttering a prayer under your breath. Although they’d not afforded your mother a dignified burial, you decided that there was nothing gained by denying them one. It was up to a higher power to decide their fate now.

Once finished, you turned timidly to your mother, her glassy face made clear now in the moonlight. Charred flowers smoked either side of her but otherwise she was still untouched.  
“I’m not a coward any more, mother,” you said with a sniff, feeling a tear slide down your cheek as you spoke. “I hope… you can forgive me. Despite how I left you, I hope this proves that I am better than I was. Braver. In fact, leaving that place might just be the best thing I’ve ever done. The man I met, mother, he is… he is truly extraordinary. And I know, a war criminal – how proud you must be of my choice – but I promise he is not all that he appears to be, and he is a great deal better than many in that village I know it.”

You bowed your head and wiped the moisture from your cheek.  
“I… Goodbye, mother.”

It took a couple of goes for the rocks to cause sparks, but eventually your mother’s burial was restarted and with a forceful push, she was once again on her way to Valhalla.

You hadn’t expected to be affected quite so suddenly. Once the pyre was no more than a firefly in the distance, it hit you. This was the closure you’d needed. Whereas before it had taken you days to begin healing, this was different. You could already feel the pieces of your heart beginning to stitch themselves back together. Perhaps this was what Jarle’s mother had intended when she’d meant to save you…

Remembering Elphina, you turned and looked over your shoulder. The glow of the village’s torches was no longer visible. Either you’d wandered too far, or they’d all returned to their homes. Just for a moment, you considered following them. Peering through your father’s window and checking that he was alright; reaching out to Jarle and saying goodbye properly; even contacting his mother to thank her for what she’d given you.

You remembered Loki’s plea, that you should stay there for one night only and ensure your own safety, but you also remembered the solemn warning you’d received from Elphina.  
_There is far more corruption in that place than you are aware of,_ she’d cautioned. Something didn’t sit right with the way she’d acted then.

For better or for worse, you decided against visiting home.

With a heavy sigh, you shouldered Duchess once more and collected your belongings again. Now for the hard part, you realised: making camp.

* * *

 

You walked for almost half an hour before stumbling into a suitable clearing, by which time you were understandably tired and hungry. A fire was quickly lit and provided enough light that you could comfortably set about making a hammock to sleep in. You identified two parallel branches and wrapped a long vine around them, before throwing your cape over the taut supports you’d created. It wasn’t perfect but it would do.

With some difficulty, you then manoeuvred a log closer the burning wood and sat yourself upon it, ready to eat something. You held a piece of fruit over the flames on a pointed spike, inhaling the scent deeply as it bubbled. You rested your head in your hand and gazed upwards. The stars were only just visible through the canopy, but beautiful and captivating nonetheless. You spotted a particularly bright one with flecks of blue and red just visible, accompanied by a slightly smaller star to its right. They felt strangely familiar; it felt like they were watching over you.

So enraptured were you by the sight, that company arrived silently, swiftly, and completely unnoticed.  
“It is as I suspected,” Thor said gravely, surprising you enough that you slipped from your log onto the leafy floor. “You live in the woods, and not with my brother as you claimed.”

He was leaning against a tree, far too casually for everything he was feeling. His face was covered with dancing shadows as he stepped closer to the fire, making him appear more terrifying than the last time you’d met. You hadn’t fully grasped what was occurring, until Thor held up a crumpled piece of parchment, familiar handwriting adorning the page.  
“You got it?” You whispered, a disbelieving smile unfurling on your face. It did not once occur to you to stop talking, that confessing to having sent the letter would be a bad idea… “Oh my goodness, you got it. I didn’t think it would actually work!”

“No,” Thor snarled as he tossed the paper into the fire. “I’ll bet you didn’t.”

Ignoring his fearsome behaviour, you stood up and approached him, skirt still damp from the river. It made moving a little awkward, but you persisted. With the benefit of hindsight, you would’ve seen how preposterous your appearance was.  
“Do you see now?” You smiled, “He’s alive. He told you himself. If you’ll just come with me, I can take you to him and you can finally be reunited.”

Thor’s face was stern and pained simultaneously. It was taking all the strength he still possessed not to strike you.  
“No, temptress,” he growled. “I am done with your games.”  
“I- What?”  
“You pen a letter in my brother’s hand, hoping to convince me of this terrible lie. You play with my heart, no doubt to lead me into a trap but I shall not be fooled, nor shall I suffer such insubordination! Guards, arrest her.”

Two burly men appeared suddenly either side of you, each placing one hand on your shoulder and another on your elbow. Duchess was resting on the other side of the log, safely concealed but equally useless.  
“I hereby charge you with attempted trapping of the king and impersonation of a member of the royal family. Take her away!”

You kicked and screamed and protested with all the little might you possessed, swearing to Thor that if he’d just follow you he would see the truth. However, the grief-stricken king ignored your pleas and demanded your apprehension with growing irritation.  
“He’s alive, I tell you! Listen to me, please, he’s alive!”

The forest was filled with your cries until the royal jailor carriage swallowed them whole.


	23. Chapter 23

The dungeons of Asgard’s palace were even colder than the forest at night. It was all you could think about as you sat shivering in the dark.  

A set of chains protruded from the wall, stretching only a metre away until they clasped around your wrists. The pink skin underneath threatened to erode under their icy hold. The stone on which you sat was dusty and uncomfortable, but thankfully worn smooth by the hundreds of others who had been in your place. How many of them had also been innocent?

In hindsight, you couldn’t hold Thor’s decision against him. You wanted to – boy, did you want to – but realistically, you knew that he was still grieving. Thinking of your mother reminded you of that. He’d never seen the body, he’d told you. He’d never gotten closure. He’d never said goodbye. The man was blinded by grief.

If only you could’ve made him see; Loki wouldn’t be the only one freed by their being reunited.

* * *

 

Time was difficult to gauge without daylight to measure it by. You couldn’t even see the hands in front of your face, let alone anything past the end of your nose. The only reason you knew that you were not alone currently was the sound of gentle movement audible every so often from the other side of the room. You cottoned on that regular movement was essential to avoid the accursed pins and needles.

After what felt like hours, you realised that there would be worse than pins and needles awaiting you in the near future. How had it come to this? In trying to do the right thing, you’d wound up in the palace’s prison. No doubt some sort of punishment would await you; a hanging, a parade through the streets, decapitation. All of it sounded gruesome and horrible…

At least they weren’t the same sentence as that which Loki had received. You wondered if he’d spent time in this prison also. No, you decided. The son of the late King? He’d have been kept in the better-kept prisons further inside, somewhere with light and furnishings, somewhere that could hold a man of his magical capabilities.

Loki…

What would he be thinking right now? Although you didn’t know how long you’d been here, you assumed that it was still night-time. There was still another day before he’d notice your absence. How long would he wait? Would he spend the rest of his prison sentence wondering what had happened to you? What if he met someone else and…

Your head continued to spiral down destructive thought patterns and it brought tears to your eyes. Everything from Loki’s sentence and how he’d undoubtedly spend the rest of it alone, to your own and how it would end in your death. The whole situation was… horrifying.

“Don’t cry, little one,” came a voice in the distance. It sounded like liquid silk, smooth and calming. “Crying does nothing but dehydrate you, and the guards are not inclined to bring you drinks upon request. Believe me, I tried.”

With a sniff, you reminded yourself how best to act. There were _real_ criminals in this place, after all. The last thing you needed was to show them weakness.   
“See?” The voice sung. “Isn’t that better already?”

The man had a strange accent you’d not encountered before – it was exotic and charming, but also pleasing to the ear. Despite having obviously encountered a skilled silver-tongued individual, you hoped to dissuade them from talking to you by remaining silent. It didn’t work.

“Forgive me for saying this,” the voice continued, “but you don’t seem like the type to be in here.” You snivelled and would’ve wiped your eyes had your chains permitted it.   
“W-What makes you say that?”  
“Well, perhaps I am making assumptions, but most criminals accept that there is a risk of being caught when they commit their crime. If they must weep, they do so in front of the guards, hoping to avoid their charge. To cry in here is… pointless. You are already condemned and there is nobody of use for your woes to fall upon the ears of. Such actions suggest that you are crying because you simply cannot stop yourself, because you are innocent.”

“You got all of that from my blubbering?” You asked. The voice chuckled lightly.   
“No, not all of it, but am I wrong?”

You sighed shakily.   
“No, sir. You aren’t wrong.”

There was silence for a moment.   
“I hope it is not to pertinent of me to ask but… of what are you accused?”

You thought for a moment. This could be a ploy. You knew nothing about this man and he could be tricking you for… for… for what? You were both chained to walls. You were both condemned. What possible reason could he have for toying with you as you suspected?

With a large breath, you decided to try and enjoy conversation with your newfound companion. He would likely be the last person you ever spoke to after all.   
“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” you said, forcing a smile that you knew he wouldn’t see.

“Very well,” The voice said, sounding intrigued by your proposition. “But you must go first, seeing as I asked.”  
“I, uh... Well, I met somebody. It seems a long time ago now, but nonetheless that’s where this whole debacle began, I suppose. At first, I thought he despised me but we’ve grown very close. We actually share a home now. In return for my gathering of food, he pouts in a window seat all day and tells me how terrible my artwork is. Anyway, I’m, uh, I’m going off on a tangent. I recently discovered that he was a… relation to his highness and though it would be pertinent to reunite them. Unfortunately, the king did not believe me and… assumed I had some ulterior motive.”

“He threw you in here for _that_?” The voice gasped, evidently aghast. You shrugged, your mind wandering to the image of Loki in his window seat, alone… Waiting for you to return. You told him you’d return. You’d lied to him, again.  
“He’s very important - to the king, I mean. I shouldn’t have spoken of him so carelessly.”

The voice paused, seeming to sense that you were at war with yourself. He granted you a moment before continuing. “Well, little one, my tale is far less interesting. A market vendor I encountered on the road sold me counterfeit goods for double the price. Being the magnanimous man that I am, I felt it necessary to hijack his goods caravans for the next week! That was until he called the city guard on me, graciously neglecting to tell them _why_ I was behaving so poorly.”

“If it’s any consolation,” you said, “you seem about as guilty as I am.”  
“I… Thank you,” the voice replied. You bowed your head again, suspecting that conversation would go no further.

Little did you know that your comment had meant a great deal to the voice’s owner. He was taking quite a shining to you already.   
“So,” he began again, “this relation of the king’s, you know him well?”  
“Quite well, yes. We’ve known each other what must be just over a year,” you nodded.   
“And the two of you, you’re together, yes?”

“What?” You scoffed, feeling heat on your cheeks suddenly. “No!”  
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the voice chuckled, sounding very unapologetic. “I just assumed. The way you talk about him is… affectionate.”

A quickened pulse and a sudden defensiveness got you talking quite vehemently.   
“Do you know what? He drives me mad. He genuinely drives me up the damned wall. He's stubborn, and stupid, and rude, and picky, and snobbish. He acts like he's got no feelings at all but then you do something marginally wrong and out they all come at once!”

The voice hummed delightedly.   
“But…?”

You blinked.   
“But?”  
“Well, I can’t imagine you living with this man unless there was a ‘but’ coming swiftly.”

You didn’t need to see the prisoner’s face to know that he was smirking. You sighed curtly.   
“But... he tries his best, or at least that’s what I’ve seen lately. He knows when he's done wrong. He's... an intellectual, but I think that's just his fancy way of saying that he's got big opinions and he'll act like a snob if you disagree with them. Oh, that's something else, he's unintentionally funny. I don’t doubt in his head he’s being clever and cruel but they’re amusing in a way only he can manage to be. He also appreciates hugging, though he’s not very good at them and he’d never admit to enjoying them. Personal space is important to him. He's... sweet, at times, too. I think he's genuinely capable of caring when his head isn’t stuck up his own butt.”

The voice sniffed amusedly.   
“It sounds like you like him if you ask me.”

You rolled your eyes. It was about time you started asking questions of your own! No more being embarrassed by a man you couldn’t see.   
“Alright, well, seeing as you’re such an expert, tell me: what does being in love feel like?”

That silenced him, if only for a few moments.   
"A strange question," he eventually replied.  
"Only if you think the answer is obvious."  
"A strange question to ask a stranger nevertheless."  
"Well, let's say I was genuinely intrigued then, that I was _considering_ romance for a moment. What do you even look for in someone to love?"

The voice quietened once more, obviously paying a lot of thought to your question.   
"Well, it should be... someone who knows you too well. Someone to put you through hell, but give you support. They’ll want you to share your troubles, maybe a little or maybe a lot. Someone to crowd you with love, and force you to care. They should hold you too close; hurt you deeply. Sitting in your chair, ruining your sleep. Someone who'll always be there, as frightened as you of being alive."

His answer had come out of nowhere and left you at a loss for words.   
“I… I didn’t realise that I was sharing a cell with such a romantic, a poet.” The voice laughed.   
“Well, I am more than just a pretty face and a perfect posterior.” Now it was you who laughed, despite how strange it felt.   
“I don’t doubt it.”


	24. Chapter 24

Conversation quickly picked up between yourself and the faceless voice in the darkness. Not only was the man amusing and quick-witted, he also was compassionate and attentive, offering condolences for your mother’s passing.

You’d ascertained that his name was Fenrien.

“You shouldn’t feel guilty for their deaths,” Fenrien said warmly. “If anybody else had been in your predicament, they’d have shot those thieves a second time for good measure and left their corpses to hang, with half the tarnish on their conscience.”  
“I took a life, Fenrien. Worse still, I took two.” You sighed, realising suddenly how much you’d lamented to a stranger. “I cannot ever be proud of that or feel good about it. I just can’t.”  
“A noble attitude, but that was not what I meant. You shouldn’t try to feel good about such things. You should aim only for peace. You protected your mother’s funeral from defamation, and that’s all that matters. Make your peace with it.”

Noticing that you were losing feeling in your left leg, you placed your hands on the floor and shifted your seating position. It seemed like a stretch to hope that a prison floor would be comfortable.  
“I have complained for too long,” you smiled weakly. You hadn’t eaten since long before you’d been captured and your stomach was letting you know about it. “Have you no problems you wish to air? No heavy burdens that your soul cannot bear?” You asked. Fenrien chuckled grimly.   
“I have made my peace with such things, little one,” he explained. “I have been in here for almost a year now.”

You could practically hear the sound of your heart hitting the bottom of your chest. It rung out like a hammer on an anvil. Here you sat, crying and sobbing about your life’s problems when you’d suffered barely a fraction of this man’s torture.   
“A… A year?”  
“That is what I said, yes.”

As you were crawling into the base of the tower, bleeding and bruised, Fenrien was somewhere in the capital being dragged to a cell. The thought was… staggering.

“Have you no family? Nobody searching for you, fighting for your freedom?”  
“I… No, I don’t think so. I don’t doubt you have gathered that I am not from this great city of yours. I travelled many days and nights to get here, seeking asylum from the war that ravages my homeland. I arrived here with others like me; refugees. I… I don’t doubt that they will have moved on without me by now.”

You felt like crying again. All of this time, he’d been alone in a foreign prison having barely escaped with his life, and you’d had the audacity to whine to him about a night’s worth of difficulties. You’d never felt more like a pompous ass…   
“But what about you? Surely this Loki will be missing you by now.”

You dropped your head.   
“I doubt it. I told him that I’d be returning this evening. He still thinks that I’m travelling. And even if he did notice, I suspect he’d be glad of the peace and quiet.”  
“Oh, please,” Fenrien scoffed mockingly. “A woman as amiable as yourself? If it were I in his shoes, I should fall apart in an instant!”

You smiled.   
“Fenrien, how do you do that? How do you remain so unequivocally chipper?”  
“I’ve learnt to make my peace with hardship. I look at what I do have, rather than lamenting over what I do not,” he replied. “For example, despite the circumstances, at least here I get a roof over my head and place to sleep.”  
“Fenrien, that place is _the floor_ ,” you cried. “Have you never thought about escaping?”

“Oh, well, of course,” Fenrien began. Somehow, the answer surprised you. “I’ve thought about escaping many a time. In fact, if I could just get out of these chains, I don’t doubt I’d be as good as free.”  
“You… have an escape plan?” You asked with wide eyes. Admittedly the thought was tantalising, and your heart was suddenly pounding. It wouldn’t surprise you if Fenrien could it.

You could hear him scratch the back of his head. It echoed softly throughout the room, making him seem much closer than he was.   
“Well, _half_ of a plan. You see, they were performing maintenance on the service tunnels when they arrested me, so the guards were forced to bring me through the palace itself. To see a prisoner in such a refined environment would be abhorrent, so when choosing their route to my cell-”    
“They picked the fastest route,” you realised.   
“And the route that was least likely to attract attention, that would conceal me from spectators. They inadvertently showed me an escape route. I just have to get to it.”

“How can I help?” You asked, desperately. It almost seemed too good to be true, that you should be able to escape and return home without Loki suspecting a thing.   
“I… I won’t ask it of you,” Fenrien said and your hope began to flee. “It’s not becoming of anybody, least of all a good woman like yourself.”

You swore silently to yourself, and clenched your fists. If there was ever a time to develop powers of persuasion, this was it.   
“Fenrien, I am chained to a wall by my wrists, I’ve been wriggling around like a toddler just to keep a bit of feeling in my arse cheeks, and I was dragged into this place, kicking, screaming, and soaked to my chin in river water. I’ve assure you that I have got no dignity left for you to fret over. If it gets me out of this hellhole, I’ll pretend that I still do and lose it all over again!”

With a gentle sigh, Fenrien finally agreed.   
“Fine, if you insist. The guard will be in shortly to deliver us table scraps from the royal banquet. When he does, I… I would ask that you distract him.”   
“That’s it?”  
“Well, I’d do it myself, but the last few times I tried they didn’t quite… take the bait.”

Your expression changed drastically, though Fenrien was not privy to it.   
“Oh,” you said lowly. “You mean… distract them in _that_ sense.”  
“I’m afraid so.”

* * *

The door jostled and rustled as the guard struggled with the lock on the door for a few minutes; it gave you a little time to prepare. He eventually burst into the room, stumbling over his own feet as the door gave way without warning. After adjusting the few panels of his armour, he pulled the trolley of food into the room behind him. A panel of warm amber light spilled into the room with him.

“Lunch,” he announced monotonously. The guard picked up a wooden plate, upon which sat a lonely loaf of bread, and turned to face you. As much as the chains would allow, you crawled forward into the light.   
“Keep your distance prisoner,” the guard warned, placing a cautionary hand on his sword. You stilled and bowed your head.   
“Begging your pardon, sir,” you said with a theatrical cough. “I am simply starved.”  
“You’ll get your food,” he replied.

“That’s… not what I’ve been starved of,” you purred, looking up at him from beneath softly batting eyelashes. The guard stepped backwards and cleared his throat, abashedly wondering if he’d heard you correctly. He didn’t have much time to think on it, however. A slender foot swept under his legs and knocked him off his feet. His helmet did little to help him. After his head hit the stone, he lay still.

“Is… Is he dead?” You asked nervously. You weren’t sure you could take more blood on your conscience.  
“No, but thoroughly concussed, I suspect,” Fenrien said as he plucked the keys from the man’s waist with his nimble toes.

You listened to the sound of jingling metal in the distance until a loud metallic din indicated that Fenrien was free of his restraints. Strangely, the thought made your heart race. This man – a convicted felon – who you admittedly knew very little of was suddenly free to act however he wished, whilst you were still chained to the wall. You were powerless.

“I have to be honest,” said Fenrien, his accent a little thicker with excitement, “my wrists feel empty without my chains.” Fear had stilled your tongue. You could feel heat in your ears as you listened to a gentle set of footsteps patter to and fro. The soldier’s body began to shift. It was dragged ominously, bit by bit, into the shadows by the person concealed within. Now what? What was Fenrien’s plan?

For a moment, all you heard was muted shuffling, as armour and clothing were swapped around. You eventually heard the restraints be fastened once again with a crunch, undoubtedly around the guard’s wrists instead. Fenrien stepped into the slither of light available, dressed in the guard’s stolen armour and helm. He was shorter than you’d anticipated – about your own height.

After meeting your gaze for only a moment, Fenrien turned and stole out of the door.

The heavy dungeon door slammed shut behind him and you whimpered quietly in the dark. Your breathing picked up to the point of hyperventilation. Surely not… Surely he hadn’t abandoned you. A small fraction of you was relieved that the man had left you be, when he had the opportunity to do far worse. However, the remaining part of you knew that you’d have done just about anything to get out of prison.

Hence your surprise and sheer delight when the door opened once more.

Fenrien strode into the room and swiftly approached, kneeling by your side to fiddle with the padlock on your chains.   
“You seem a little perplexed,” he chuckled as he fussed. Fenrien sounded different with the benefit of proximity.   
“I… I thought you were going to leave me,” you whispered, terror washing over you at the thought. Perhaps he wasn’t such a scoundrel.

You sighed with relief as your restraints sprung open and fell to the floor with a _clang_. Fenrien’s hands then moved either side of his helmet, pulling it off with graceful fluidity. It revealed a thin, shapely face underneath, complimented by almond eyes. A pair of diamond-cut cheekbones were touched softly by the long golden hair which fell elegantly either side of his skull. The pointed tips of his ears protruded from within.   
“Look at this face,” he said with a sultry smile. “Does this look like that face of a man who’d leave an innocent woman behind?”


	25. Chapter 25

As soon as you were out of your cuffs, Fenrien helped you to your feet. You approached the large doorway and he peered out, looking briefly in both directions. The coast was clear.  
“I only disappeared to take care of the guards outside our door,” he explained as you walked, “But should we see them again, or should anybody ask, I’m escorting you to a different cell because you were causing trouble with the other prisoners.”

The dungeon exit was surprisingly close, connected to the ground floor by a dusty wooden staircase which creaked with every step. The uppermost platform was so old that it looked as though your foot would go right through it were you to try and apply your whole weight.

Behind a heavy oak door, a spotless corridor offered turns to the right, left, and directly ahead of you.  
“Which way?” You whispered.  
“Left,” Fenrien replied, “but it would seem we’ve got company.”

You placed your hands on Fenrien’s shoulders and peered over them. True to his word, there were two guards stood to attention next to a gold-plated doorway about 20 feet away. If the pair of you stayed put and stared any longer, you’d be seen.

“Play along then,” you smirked as you pushed past your accomplice. With a touch of melodrama, you threw yourself to the ground in the corridor. One of the guards turned. In his confusion, Fenrien was frozen still. You turned your head to look up at him.  
“I’m going as fast as I can,” you spat at him. “You don’t have to shove.”

“What’s going on here?” said the second sentinel, leaving his post and approaching you tentatively. Fenrien scrambled to put his helmet back on. Meanwhile, you engaged the forthcoming.  
“One of yours seems to think I’m a _distraction_ to the other prisoners,” you growled. Immediately the guard relaxed. Fenrien stepped over you, and picked you up by the elbows. He promptly pulled your hands behind your back with a little too much force.

“I’m transferring her to another cell for now,” he explained, trying to deepen his voice. It sounded incredibly strange and you tried to hide a little laughter.  
“You’re new here, aren’t you?” asked the guard with a disapproving frown. Fenrien chuckled.  
“Is it that obvious?”  
“You’re moving a prisoner without handcuffs. Just a little.”

Though reluctant to comply as the guard cuffed your wrists, you ultimately decided it was best to play along for now; if nothing else, it sold the story a little more. The guard then turned to his peer and instructed him to inform Thor of the change. Fenrien began to sweat.  
“That’s r-really not necessary.”  
“You really _are_ new, aren’t you? It might not be necessary but it is protocol so we’re telling his highness.” Trying to look on the bright side, you reminded yourself that at least there was at least one less guard to deal with.

“Look, tell you what, I’ll take her from here,” said the superior guard. “You should probably return to your post and… brush up on how we do things here. Where are you transferring her to?” Now Fenrien _really_ began to sweat. As he began to realise that he didn’t know the palace as well as a guard ought to, you determined that his escape plan wasn’t 100% watertight. Why were you always fixing things?

Rolling your eyes, you elbowed Fenrien in the stomach, ducked out of the guard’s grasp, and began to sprint down the corridor.  
“Fools!” you called out for added effect. The guard was stunned for a minute, and Fenrien seized the opportunity, if a little breathlessly. You hadn’t meant to properly injure him, but it also needed to appear real.  
“Get help,” Fenrien insisted to his ‘comrade’. “I might not know protocol but I know how to chase.”

Fenrien ran as fast he could, looking over his shoulder only once to check that he wasn’t being pursued. The corridor turned sharply to the right and he followed it round, only making it a few steps before a pair of hands reached seemingly out of nowhere, grabbed his collar, and _heaved_.

You had tucked yourself neatly into a small alcove in the wall, and yanked Fenrien into it beside you. Before he could react, you placed a hand over his mouth. A group of about 4 guards marched obediently past, oblivious to your presence.

The alcove was only about 2 feet wide. It had barely fit you into it. With the addition of an armour-clad Fenrien, however, it was even more snug, your body pressed uncomfortably against his. You noted that he smelled faintly of charcoal. Either that or the armour had recently been polished.

Once the troops had passed, you removed your hand. Your handcuffs had kept both of them close together, the hand not on his lips forced to hold his cheek gently or dangle uncomfortably.  
“Well, that didn’t go as planned,” he laughed lightly, earning him a frown. “In my defence, _you_ put us in that situation. I’m sure I could’ve thought of another way to do it.”  
“Oh, yes, absolutely, this is my fault! Tell me you know the way out of here better than you know how to lie.”

After prying yourselves out of the hole in the wall, Fenrien grasped the chain of your restraints and led you further down the corridor. The sight of a guard leading a prisoner raised no more questions from passers-by.

* * *

 

“We’re almost there,” Fenrien said. You could hear how giddy he was in the way his voice shook. “The main exit is right around this corner. Then we can-”

Fenrien had barely turned when he pushed you back around the corner, pressing your back against the wall.  
“What? Fenrien, what is it?” Judging by the whites of his eyes, whatever Fenrien had seen was not good. You peered around the corner to examine the situation for yourself and sighed.

The two guards you’d escaped earlier had returned. The first had, as instructed by Fenrien, gathered several of his comrades who were checking the identity of anyone wishing to enter or leave the palace. The other had obediently reported the change in your cell to his highness, the king of Asgard. Evidently he’d elected to oversee the operation.

It occurred to you how suspicious it must’ve sounded to him that a woman who he considered a devious manipulator was being moved the same day she’d arrived in prison. Of course he’d known there was more to it. Of course he’d come to clear everything up.

You disappeared behind the corner and chewed your thumb softly. Fenrien was already beginning to panic; it was up to you to think on your feet.  
“Remember,” Thor loudly instructed his guards, “she’ll attempt to deceive us. We must be vigilant. Check everybody. Whoever the imposter guard was is likely her accomplice. They’ll be traveling together.”

You clicked your fingers.

Grabbing the top of his breastplate, you dragged Fenrien further along the corridor, away from the main doors.  
“What’re you- Where are we going? The exit is _that_ way!”

You spotted the doorway you were looking for and smiled. Opening it up, the broom cupboard was a little smaller than you’d hoped for but it would do. You threw Fenrien inside.  
“Take off the armour,” you commanded him.  
“What? Why? I like it!”

You directed a strangling gesture in Fenrien’s direction before spinning in a frustrated circle.  
“I do not have time to argue this with you. There’s only one way we’re getting out of this palace now and it’s not like this. Fenrien, I will ask you one last time before I undress you myself: take off your clothes.”

Fenrien smiled in disbelief.  
“I’d usually require a glass of wine first, but if you insist…”

* * *

 

The armour was hot and heavy, clanking loudly with every step and making you dangerously aware of your own presence. You’d closed the grate on the helmet to hide your face and it didn’t help to get any fresh air circulating. Your identity was a secret for now, but at the cost of comfort. _This is going to work_ , you reassured yourself. _This is going to work._

“This isn’t going to work,” Fenrien mumbled. You jolted your shoulder sharply and he grunted. It had taken a lot of effort to get him suitably draped over your shoulder, but thankfully his extended time in prison rendered him quite light. Though the blood was rushing to his head, hair swaying with every step you took, he had complained very little until now.

Your biggest risk was the handcuffs. Neither yourself nor Fenrien had been able to remove them, instead collaborating to put armour on over the top of them. You placed your thickly gloved hands on Fenrien’s upper leg to hold him steady, but also so that you could hide the small silver chain connecting your wrists.  
“Any higher with your hands and I’ll blush,” Fenrien chuckled.  
“Quiet. You’re drunk, remember?”  
“Right, right…”

You approached the guard’s gate and swallowed. The woman in front of you held a basket of fruit and veg which the guard examined briefly before waving her through.  
“Halt,” he then commanded you. “Routine inspection. What’s all this?” He gestured to a floppy Fenrien, whose arms were dangling down your back. He hummed a silly tune.  
“Drunkard, sir,” you explained, hoping your voice wasn’t too low that it sounded too fake, but low enough to not sound like yourself. “Caught him pilfering wine in the cellar. I’m going to escort him back home.”

The guard gestured for you to turn, and lifted Fenrien’s heavy head with his finger. You wondered if they’d discovered the absence in the prison yet…

Fenrien hiccoughed and giggled, before telling the guard he had beautiful eyes. With a curt sigh, the guard announced your identities to the room and waved you through.

Thor turned at the proclamation and watched the main doors open so you could carry Fenrien through. His eyes narrowed as he looked you up and down, and he continued to stare until the doors had slid shut behind you.

You sustained the façade all the way down the main staircase, carrying Fenrien until you’d reached the palace borders. At the most opportune moment, you turned and swiftly made for the privacy of the nearby topiaries. Freedom was tantalisingly close.

Placing your accomplice onto the grassy ground, you removed your helmet and shook your head. It felt good to be out of the stuffy headwear. As you began to remove the armour from your arms, legs, and torso (with great difficulty given your handcuffs), Fenrien soaked in the sight of the outside world. Gentle bird song was audible in the distance.  
“It feels… strange,” he mused aloud. “I’ve been stuck in that hole for so long that seeing the sun now seems so very strange.”

The sun.

You looked up and noted the sun’s position. It was beginning already sinking into the west with speed. Thor had picked you up in the late evening of your mother’s funeral. It must’ve been a day’s ride to the capital, where you’d luckily only had to endure a few hours. Loki would’ve only recently noticed your absence. The sooner you could return to him, the better.

The last of the golden armour hit the ground with a clang. It felt so much better to be out of it, even if the alternative was a prisoner’s garb. Fenrien was still staring at the sunlight with interest. You knew that this was a big moment for him, but he could drink in the daylight another time. Right now, you needed to go.

Touching his arm tenderly, you broke his concentration and smiled at him.  
“Later, okay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart by [@suspiciousradiostatic](https://suspiciousradiostatic.tumblr.com/post/169587397039/heres-hoping-tunglr-dot-com-doesnt-chew-up-and):  
> 


	26. Chapter 26

The stables were relatively easy to find, situated closely to the main entrance of the palace at the bottom of the main staircase. Reddish wood comprised the structure from bottom to top, with a few haybales outside the front providing warm contrast. As you approached the tall open doors, a heavy whiff of grain and oats hit your nostrils – a wholesome smell – tainted by the stench of dirt, soil, and sweat. You wanted to believe that you couldn’t smell manure, but that wasn’t to say the area was free of it.

Stepping inside, several paddocks lined the walls, a thin flooring of straw just visible underneath the borders of each one. The good news was that it was empty of guards.

The bad news was that it was empty of horses too.

A gentle wind blew through the building, eliciting an eerie atmosphere. No gentle hoof-stomping, no snuffling of large noses against food bags, no huffing and whinnying in greeting. Nothing.   
“What good is a stable without any steeds?” Fenrien huffed dejectedly. You strolled amongst the paddocks and pushed open each door softly, hoping to find a horse who may have been lying down out of sight.  
“I imagine they’re just in use, Fenrien. It’s hardly likely that they’ve staged a mass exodus,” you chuckled.

Fenrien had intended to reply wittily, but silenced when he noticed the pleasure on your face as you disappeared into one of the pens.   
“Did you find one?” He called out.   
“No, but I did find something of use.”

A small black anvil was nestled amongst the hay, a hammer and hardy sleeping neatly atop it. By the time Fenrien arrived, you had walked around to the far side of the anvil and kneeled beside it. Balling your hands into fists, you pulled them as far apart as you could and stretched the chain taut over the length of ebony metal.

“Use the tools. Break the chain,” you instructed him. “It’s not elegant but I need to be able to use my hands again. I can figure out how to get them off properly later.”

“I… I’m not sure about that,” Fenrien chuckled lowly, tugging at his sleeves. “What if I miss? I’m not exactly the steadiest of hands currently. Or what if there are sparks? We could set this place alight!”  
“Fenrien, I promise I won’t let anything bad happen. I know you’ve been out of the world for a while, but now is not the time for permitting nerves to get the better of you. Just place the hardy over the links and hit it with the hammer. It’s easy, and I trust you, okay?”

If Fenrien had been shaky before, he was certainly quivering now. The tip of the hardy was situated halfway between your fists, his sweaty palm struggling to keep it steady. With his free hand, the hammer was lifted higher and higher and–  
“Woah, woah, what’re you doing?” You laughed nervously. “Not that high, bud, or you _will_ miss. Just a little tap should do it.”

Sure enough, with a little weight behind his swing, the chain split cleanly. It wasn’t quite as liberating as it should’ve been, given there was still metal around your wrists, but the feeling of being able to stretch the knots from your shoulders was still amazing. You did so with a hum of delight.

“Thank you for trusting me,” Fenrien said, a little coyly, as he returned the tools and stood upright. You raised an eyebrow.   
“What’s going on Fen?” You asked him, ignoring the contraction of his name you’d concocted. “You panicked at the door, and you fretted over a hammer. You’re not the same smooth talker I met in the shadows.”

Fenrien rubbed the back of his neck and grinned.   
“There is nothing wrong, per se, but I am admittedly on edge. You seem so calm right now – you are thinking on your feet and you are making goals to meet. Yet I have been out of this world for so long I feel like a stranger in it! I cannot help but fear that if I do something wrong, I’ll be back in that cage again, like a disobedient dog.”

With a sad smile, you approached Fenrien and took his hands, squeezing them tightly.   
“I’m not going to let that happen. If it weren’t for you, we’d not have made it this far after all. The lack of horses is not some terrible omen – we will make it away from here; we just need to think of another way.”

“How do you remain so calm? Are you not also afraid?” He asked, tilting his head slightly. Your mind was cast back to the events in the last year or so – almost being kidnapped, cleaning infected wounds with nothing but rags, being attacked by bandits with knockout bombs, and fighting off thieves who’d threatened your mother’s funeral pyre. Quite a list. Quite a survival. You’d been afraid through all of it, and yet…

“I recently heard some very good advice. I’ve made peace with my fear. I’m focusing on what I can do, rather than what I can’t. Nerves are only a hindrance if you let them be. Otherwise, they can be the very thing that keeps you alive.”

* * *

 

With little place else to go, and time running short, the two of you approached the barn doors again with the intention of seeking Plan B. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed that there was activity brewing close to the palace. Several armoured silhouettes were totting around near the main gate; they must’ve realised you’d slipped past without detection.  
“They’ll discover us soon,” you muttered, chewing your thumb nail. “We’ve either got to start running, find a good place to hide, or find a horse.”

“What about _two_ horses?” Fenrien asked, pointing in the direction of the incoming vehicle. It was a spherical carriage, formed of pumpkin-coloured wood and golden, flora-inspired decorations which climbed all sides and glittered in the sunlight. The wheels looked like they’d been spun from vines. To your delight, it seemed to be slowing down. The carriage would likely surpass you and come to a halt outside the main palace steps, meaning a small 30-second sprint would bring you right alongside it.

“If we wait until it’s stopped and approach the driver from the far side, we can push him out of the seat and perhaps avoid the eyes of the guards on the doors,” you said. Fenrien wasn’t watching, however. He nudged you with his shoulder.   
“I don’t think we have that long.”

Following his gaze, you saw a sight that set your stomach reeling. Thor and two of his guards emerged from the hedges, each holding a part of the armour you’d abandoned. Busted! At the sight of you both, the armour was dropped and two sets of swords were brandished.   
“Run!” You yelled.

As soon as you took off, Thor began a hasty pursuit, his cape rippling behind him as he leapt into action. Holding his hand aloft, Thor summoned Mjolnir, which burst from somewhere you didn’t see and flew into his hand. It was promptly thrown in your direction. Fenrien pushed your head down as the weapon soared over the top of you and into the distance.   
“Seems his aim is off,” he chuckled lightly – until you forced him suddenly to the left. Mjolnir turned and flew past again, back into the fist of its wielder. Thor caught it with a growl.   
“Don’t get cocky,” you roared at Fenrien as you picked up your pace.

Eventually, the guards were left behind, their armour weighing them down too much to keep up. Though slightly weaker than you, Fenrien was fast and nimble, taking your hand to ensure you could match his significant lead. Thor continued to gain despite your best efforts. A sharp pain was rearing in your side…

The carriage had finally slowed to a stop.  
“I can’t drive,” you yelled to Fenrien as he leapt into the driver’s seat and planted his foot into the back of the driver. The poor gent hit the soil with a grunt.   
“Luckily for you, I can. Remember the caravan?”

You opened the door to the carriage. It was empty - thankfully. Fenrien cracked the whip with a triumphant crow and didn’t waste any time in setting the horses in motion. As the carriage lurched forward, you were thrown against the back wall, the door slamming closed behind you.

Sensing that he wouldn’t catch the carriage in time, Thor paused and changed tactic. Gripping only the strap around his wrist, he began to spin Mjolnir at waist-height. He smirked to himself as the heavens gathered overhead; deep charcoal clouds clamoured for dominance and boomed frightfully. You leaned out of the window and realised what was happening. If lightning hit you, that was it; it was all over. What could you possibly do?

As the clouds thickened and crackled, Thor prepared to summon his attack – when something hit him square in the face. It wasn’t enough to do damage, or even hurt for that matter, but the surprise knocked his concentration and the sky momentarily stilled.

Shaking his head and blinking, Thor scrambled to recollect the focus he’d lost. He saw you leaning out of the carriage window, waving to him frantically.   
“Sorry!”

Thor looked down at your makeshift projectile, which lay on the floor at his feet – a shoe. Infuriatingly simple, and yet enough to grant you your escape. He leaned down and gripped the footwear fiercely. After watching the back of the carriage disappear into the distance, he snarled and turned swiftly on his heel. Time to call the cavalry.

* * *

 

The carriage whistled down the main road, eventually bursting into the residential area where Fenrien reluctantly caused carnage. A carriage of this size was not made for navigating the narrow roads of the kingdom’s suburban quarter, but you couldn’t afford to slow down.

Eventually, you were entirely free of the city’s walls and the forest was in sight; a surprisingly comforting sight. At this point, the horses were permitted to slow. Fenrien tugged on the reins and bid them to trot, until the cool shadows of the trees had engulfed you and the horses’ hooves softly trod along a leafy path.

Hearing the carriage door open and close, Fenrien turned to see you climbing up the side of the carriage. He leaned over and offered you his hand. You were heaved into the driver’s seat alongside him.  
“We did it,” he said once you were settled next to him. He filled his breast with a deep breath and released it. “We did it; we’re free.”

Though you knew that there was still much to do before you were truly safe, you decided to keep your mouth shut. Fenrien hadn’t had time to properly celebrate his emancipation and his outdoor experience would be vastly different to yours.  
“This was your doing, your plan,” you grinned, patting the hands that held the reins. “You see, you had nothing to be afraid of after all!”  
“Perhaps, but you were the one who got us through everything I feared. I am very much inspired by your example, little one.”

It felt strange to have someone say you inspired them; clearing your throat, you brushed it off for now.   
“You were great, Fenrien. If it weren’t for you… I don’t know what I’d have done. I certainly wouldn’t be alive, that’s for sure. Thor would have my head.”  
“And now you can finally return to this friend of yours,” he replied with a timid smile.

“What about you?” You asked, “Where will you go?”  
“I…”

Fenrien’s shoulders slumped suddenly.   
“I don’t know. It’s been so long… Everyone I knew will have long since left and set up lives elsewhere. I have… nothing. I have nobody.”

Aside from the sound of turning wheels, crunching leaves, and pounding hooves, the conversation fell silent. Your heart hurt to hear Fenrien speak so glumly; he sounded utterly hopeless. This man, who you knew could be bold and daring, was suddenly broken by loneliness.

“You have me, you know,” you said, bumping his shoulder with your own. “And you’re welcome to come with me until you figure out your next step.”

Fenrien’s eyes widened suddenly and he turned to look at you. You squeaked and stole the reins from his hands.   
“The road, Fenrien, watch the road!”

“Just like that?” He ignored you, appearing to be on the edge of tears. “You’d help me just like that?” Once you’d gained control of the horses (though admittedly with no idea what you were doing), you sighed and laughed anxiously.   
“Yes, if you like. I can’t say you’ll receive a warm welcome from my, uh, _friend_ , but believe me when I say that there’s not much he can do about it. Our home is your home until you figure out the rest.”

Fenrien returned his gaze forward and you caught the edge of his mouth turning upwards. Clearly, he wasn’t quite sure how to react.   
“I… Thank you.”

You smiled warmly.   
“You’re welcome. Now, can you please take the reins back before I crash this thing?”

* * *

 

Once the stars revealed themselves in the inky sky, you were able to chart a course for home. It took a while but soon enough you were in a leg of the woods that you recognised. You even steered the carriage towards the site of your arrest. To your delight, Duchess was still there. Untouched. Unstolen. Unharmed - and obediently awaiting your return. It felt much better to have her on your shoulder again. When you were about an hour’s walk from the tower, you abandoned the carriage, sending the horses slightly west of your direction in the hopes of misleading Thor and the cavalry that were no doubt hot on your heels.

Knowing that you were so close to Loki, having been away so long, set your heart racing. Would he have missed you at all? Or perhaps he’d busied himself in your absence, losing track of time? You’d hate to think he’d worried too much, as you knew he was sometimes capable of. The last time you’d gone missing nobody but Jarle had noticed at all… The idea of Loki not having missed you at all was admittedly a little painful.

You burst into the clearing with renewed energy and excitement, dragging Fenrien behind you by the hand. You wondered if Loki could see you from his window and craned your neck upwards to examine the window; you couldn’t see his face, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t watching. Fenrien also looked up, stopping in his tracks at the sight of your home.   
“You live here?!” He asked, not wholly surprised as much as he was impressed.   
“It’s not much,” you smirked, “but look at the location!”

You couldn’t push the bricks in fast enough, the bite of the ice feeling strangely like home and beckoning you inside. Fenrien chuckled at the sight of you so enthusiastic. In as long as he’d known you, which admittedly wasn’t long, he’d not seen you this animated before. You leapt up the staircase for a second, before stopping momentarily to turn and give your friend a fair warning.   
“So, um, listen: these stairs are going to kick your arse a bit. It’s always hardest the first time you climb them. Just… take it steady. You’ll get there eventually.”

“You’re not going to wait for me?” Fenrien folded his arms with a smug grin. He could see you were itching to see your housemate, and he wasn’t going to stop you. However, he felt like teasing.   
“I think you can handle a few stairs, Fen. Plus, if I get up there before you, I can let him know you’re coming!” You explained haphazardly before dashing away again and leaving Fenrien to begin the climb alone.

In truth, your reasons for hurrying ahead were only partly true. The idea of Loki finding out you’d encountered and been arrested by his brother (for reasons you’d dare not confess) was not a pleasant one. Loki would be furious you’d met Thor without telling him. If you could arrive before Fenrien, however, you could at least administer some damage control before the appearance of your newfound friend angered him further.

As you neared the uppermost flights, you called out to him.   
“Loki! Loki, it’s me, I’m back! I’m alright! I’m-” You opened the front door and promptly shut your mouth.

Loki was curled up in his window seat, snoring quietly. His head was a little lopsided and as a result his cheek had fallen upon his shoulder. A gentle gust of afternoon wind blew through the open window, and Loki shivered in his sleep. You crossed the room tentatively, trying not to wake him, and bit your lip when he trembled again. Once by his side, you lowered yourself onto the edge of the window seat. You reached out to brush a strand of hair from his face and tucked it behind his ear.

His hand grasped your wrist suddenly, and Loki sat upright, primed and prepared to defend himself. The expression on his face when he saw you, however, was ineffable. Wide, wet eyes, looked you up and down like you were a dream. His mouth parted slightly. His grip softened, but only for a moment as he used it to pull you closer and wrap his arms around you.

Taken aback by the suddenness of his affections, you didn’t know how to react at first. Loki buried his face into your shoulder and clutched you to himself fiercely. It was as if he didn’t believe you were real. The smell of him was so familiar that you quickly found yourself also brimming with emotion. You tightened the embrace, placing a hand on the back of his head to comfort him.  
“I missed you too,” you whispered.

Eventually, he pulled away and placed his hands either side of his head, tentatively stroking your cheeks with his thumbs.  
“Where did you go?”

“Go?” You asked, faking a look of confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t go anywhere, I’m just a little late!”

With a frown, Loki took your wrist again, holding it up higher; the remnants of the handcuff dangled from your arm.   
“Oh, _that_! Well, that’s… that’s an obvious explanation. I was-”

The main door burst open and Fenrien dropped to the floor with a grateful cry.   
“Sweet, sweet level ground,” he sighed, kissing the ice beneath him multiple times. You winced. Fenrien then rolled onto his back and spread out like a star. “If nobody has any objections, I shall sleep here. If anybody _does_ have objections, I wish them luck trying to move me.”

He promptly passed out.

Loki glared at the back of your head, awaiting explanation, but you turned around slowly, breaking into a nervous smile as his interrogative eyes met yours.   
“I… I swear, I can explain that too!”


	27. Chapter 27

Loki stood up and left your side to approach the unconscious Fenrien. He placed his foot under the snoozing man’s ribs–  
“Loki, don’t-”

–and kicked sharply.

Fenrien swore loudly, and rolling over with an arm around his ribcage. He groaned for a moment – coughed – and then began to chuckle throatily.   
“Sit up,” Loki demanded. “You do not live here, so do not act like it.”  
“Loki, he doesn’t have anywhere else to go,” you pleaded, crossing the room swiftly and helping Fenrien to his feet.

With narrow eyes, Loki examined what was unfolding in front of him. This Fenrien character and yourself seemed very… comfortable around one another. You dusted off his clothing and studied his pupils before brushing a little ice from his long, blonde hair. The elf was tall and slender, supple dark skin contrasting his fair hair agreeably, and an all too familiar twinkle in his almond-shaped eyes. He had an arm around your shoulders and gazed at you appreciatively as you dusted him off. Something about this man didn’t sit right with Loki – though he couldn’t explain why yet.  
“ _Exactly_ what happened to you?” he asked pointedly.

You and Fenrien looked at one another, something unspoken shared between your wide eyes, until the latter slid his arm slowly from around your shoulders. He stood up on his own and stepped back to let you take the lead.   
“You… You won’t like it,” you mumbled. Loki folded his arms slowly and your stomach dropped a million miles. He watched as you clasped your hands in front of your abdomen and returned to the window seat; your mind raced as you begged it to devise some sort of alibi, something that could explain everything without telling him anything.

“W-Well, I was at my mother’s funeral,” you began to stammer, looking up and around the room. Fenrien lowered his eyebrows confusedly. Why weren’t you telling this Loki the truth? He tried to recall why you were in the prison in the first place… What had you told him about the man you were living with?

“What else?” Loki droned, but you opened your mouth and hesitated. He’d know if you were lying, and that only made it harder. Loki sighed curtly. “Just tell me,” he pleaded, stepping a little closer and getting on one knee in front of you. “Tell me and I’ll do my best to understand.”  
“I- I went to my mother’s funeral–”  
“Yes, we’ve established that. Then what?”  
“And… I witnessed thieves robbing her pyre.”

Loki frowned and stood up again.  
“As terrible as that is, and I do believe you, you’re stalling. (Y/n), just tell me who this is, and why you’re wearing handcuffs!”

“Clearly, the woman is shaken, sir,” Fenrien declared suddenly, attracting Loki’s attention. “Perhaps it is best that I introduce myself to you instead.” He bowed low and deep, his head tucked in, flourishing a hand in the direction of the man who glowered at it. You covered your eyes with your hand. You were screwed. “I am Fenrien Augustino De Antillion, a man who would’ve been wrongfully arrested for the bodies surrounding her mother’s pyre. You see, her village people discovered them and thought that I, who was innocently passing through the area, was responsible! Our dear friend here obviously could not let me be falsely convicted and she came to my rescue. It unfortunately went quite wrong and we were both apprehended. We made a daring escape earlier today… and here we are!”

With a raised eyebrow, Loki looked behind him.   
“Is this true?”

Looking from one man to the other from behind your hand, an ajar mouth threatened to give you away. Fenrien shot you an emphatic look, and eventually, you nodded.   
“Yes, I… It’s true, Loki. I’m sorry.”

For one painful moment, Loki made no reaction. You wondered if he even believed you. Eventually he let a short sigh escape him, shaking his head with a smirk.   
“You are a foolish woman,” he chuckled. “How you always get yourself into these scrapes is beyond me.”

When you dropped your head, Loki pulled you to your feet and embraced you once more. This time it felt reserved and distant; it felt like a lie.   
“I’m just glad you’re alright,” he murmured. Over his shoulder, you mouthed your gratitude to Fenrien who nodded politely.

* * *

 

You played distractedly with the food in your bowl; the fork scratching and tinkling irritatingly as you toyed with the contents. Loki was quiet too. The pair of you were sat side-by-side in the window seat, each with a bowl of food that hadn’t been depleted since you’d served it half an hour ago. The fire pit glowed with the embers of the fire you’d cooked on, the only sound in the room besides your fork being the gentle crackle of ash.

Fenrien had taken himself to bed at the first opportunity, declaring that he was far too tired to eat. Neither you nor Loki stopped him. Both of you knew that a conversation was needed.

“I don’t like it,” Loki grumbled, glaring hotly at the bedroom door. It was still open slightly.   
“I’m not exactly thrilled either but it’s the most sensible arrangement. Just be glad you don’t have to do it! Who knows? He might snore, or take up all the bedsheets.”

“Well, why _don’t_ I share the bed with him?” Loki said, turning to face you. “I’ll sleep alongside this… Fenrien person, and you can sleep out here.”  
“Loki, I think you are the only person capable of sleeping in this damned window seat. I’ll take my chances with Fenrien.”

Loki rubbed his chin thoughtfully.   
“Well, why doesn’t _he_ sleep out here then, and you and I can… can…”

You rolled your eyes with a snort. _  
_ “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. No. He’s slept on the floor for a year, he needs a bed, even if it’s only for a few nights. Besides, the only reason I’m sharing with Fenrien is because he won’t be here long. I’m sure of it. We just need to find some way to help him, some sort of goal that he can achieve.”

Loki stared at the cooked vegetables in his bowl. He’d lost his appetite all of a sudden. A question burned on his tongue that he longed to have answered.   
“What _actually_ happened in the village?”

The grip on your fork tightened.   
“What are you asking for? A play by play?” You snapped, feeling heat rush to your face.   
“Of sorts. Fenrien was hardly descriptive. What happened? Did they not recognise you?”

“It was… all a blur, Loki. I’d killed two people without falter. I felt sick to my stomach with guilt. I was only able to focus again when…” You closed your eyes and pictured yourself throwing dirt over the corpses. The heat of the flames from your mother’s pyre as she swam once more down the river. No arrest, no villagers; no Fenrien.

You could tell him the truth; you were so tired, it’d be easier to just tell him the truth… But you knew how he’d react. You could see him growing quickly enraged, and throwing both you and Fenrien out into the night. It was too late to go back now. You persisted, reiterating the lie Fenrien had begun. “…I was only able to focus when I saw a man being arrested for what I’d done.”  
“But the villagers who were arresting him,” Loki continued, ignorant to the conflict in your eyes, “did you not know them? Did they not see that you were one of their own?”

“I… I don’t know, Loki,” you sighed. “The funeral was held off on my account. They probably pretended they didn’t know me so they could get payback… or something. I don’t doubt they all harbour some sort of resentment towards me.”

Loki nodded slowly. He wanted to believe that you were telling him the truth, but it just didn’t sit right. You’d sat as a captive in your hometown for days and nobody had though it unjust. Nobody had rescued or recognised you. However, he forced himself to think a little more compassionately. These were not the question he should’ve been asking.

“How was your mother’s funeral?” You laughed icily, and Loki put his bowl down so that he could place his hand over yours.   
“It was… a funeral,” you muttered bitterly.   
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I can even pretend that listening to you would inconvenience me if it helped.”

With a sad smile, you dropped your head.   
“She looked so alone, Loki. Jarle, bless his soul, placed some flowers with her, but that was it. Just him. It felt like everyone else was there out of obligation. I didn’t even see my father, not that I was looking.”  
“She is at peace now,” Loki said. “That should give you comfort, no?”  
“I certainly think moving on will be easier than it was. It just feels like I’ve returned to square one.”  
“Understandably so.”

When you tried to smile and failed, Loki felt his heart shudder. Whatever your reasons for lying to him, he trusted you enough to believe they were well intentioned. He told himself that you’d confess when you were ready.

Loki breathed in deeply… and convinced himself to let it go.

He felt you lean over to rest your cheek on his shoulder, staring at the dying flames contentedly.   
“I missed you,” you whispered. Loki turned and placed his chin gently upon your head.   
“I missed you too.”

For a while, the two of you sat thusly, drinking in the warmth of each other’s company until the embers were dark. Loki opened his mouth, but thought better of what he’d intended to say and promptly shut up again.   
“I should sleep,” you yawned, leaving Loki’s shoulder cold as you stood up. He bid you goodnight and watched you leave until the bedroom door had clicked shut.  
“Goodnight…”

* * *

 

Feeling the mattress dip, Fenrien stirred slightly and sat up. He caught sight of your silhouette in the moonlight, dressed for sleep but reluctant to commit.   
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” came a gentle whisper.   
“Not at all. I was hoping we could speak, in fact.”

He watched your head sink a little lower. It was likely that you already knew of what he wished to discuss.   
“Keep it brief, please. I’m exhausted.”  
“Very well,” he said, sitting up a little. “I shall speak plainly and to the point: why did I lie to your companion?”

After a moment, you turned around, sitting cross-legged on the bed.   
“Can you keep a secret?” You asked. The way you’d phrased the question made it sound so trivial – like you were two adolescents discussing your latest infatuations – but he knew that it had to be more serious than that or it wouldn’t be eating you up so much. When Fenrien promised his discretion, you believed him. Perhaps you were too hasty in doing so, but you didn’t care at this point. You’d already lied to someone you cared about today. You weren’t about to repeat that mistake.

“What I told you in the prison was only a… half-truth.”  
“Which part?”  
“Every part.”

And so you began to talk, and talk, and talk. Having kept everything pent up for so long, it felt incredibly therapeutic to speak freely. What you’d told Fenrien in the prison was simple; Loki was related to the king but Thor did not believe her when she’d informed him of it. You could see the shock in your friend’s eyes as you explained that he wasn’t just some distant cousin or the son of a family friend; he was Thor’s brother.

Once you’d started explaining, you didn’t know how to stop. You detailed everything from how you first arrived at the tower, and the village you’d come from, to the letter you’d sent which had enraged the King and warranted your arrest. You even went as far as to reopen the cupboard in the corner, showing Fenrien the royal artefacts and proving that everything you’d told him was the truth.

“So you see… I simply cannot tell him of what I did, nor that his brother believes him dead. It would break him; firstly because of the news’ gravitas, but secondly because I kept it from him. If he discovers that I was arrested by his brother because I took it upon myself to send a letter that was not mine to send…” You shook your head and turned away. “Every time I’ve acted impetuously or followed my nose, he’s shunned me or grown angry or both. I should’ve learnt my lesson, I know that now. I thought that I was doing right by him, but now I see that I’ve acted very foolishly indeed. I should’ve told him when I met Thor in the woods. I should’ve told him that I’d read his letters. I should’ve done so many things differently.

Even now I dig my grave deeper by perpetuating a lie that should never have been. And I– I just…” Fenrien took your hands and held them tightly, feeling them shake until you’d finally caught your breath.   
“I understand a little better now,” he smiled warmly. “And it is most unfortunate of a circumstance. However, I trust that he would be understanding if you were to bare all. Your intentions were honourable after all.”

You scoffed.   
“Oh, really? You’ve met him now – pray tell, how reasonable of a person do you believe him to be?” Fenrien opened his mouth to respond immediately, only to stammer and stumble, chuckling nervously and shaking his head in conclusion.   
“I admit you’ve caught me there. But I am a stranger to him; surely your relationship affords you certain… privileges.”

When you realised what he was implying, you picked up the nearest pillow and swatted Fenrien over the head with it.  
“Don’t be filthy,” you laughed.

* * *

 

Loki was startled to hear your laugh pierce the empty room and sighed sadly. He collected two cushions and held one over each ear, praying for sleep to take him.


	28. Chapter 28

Loki’s dreams were kinder to him that night. No more did he see your face surrounded in flame or your corpse lying unfound on the forest floor. That night, he dreamt you were dancing. He led you around by the hand, turning gentle circles in a room with no ceiling or floor. You were floating on air, lighter than the wind.

A sharp pain in his side disrupted the fantasy. Loki’s eyelids parted sluggishly until he felt someone shove him again.   
“Hey,” the culprit hissed. “Hey, wake up.”

After rolling over, Loki glowered at Fenrien who had his hands on Loki’s ribcage, shaking him to and fro.   
“Go away,” Loki slurred, pushing Fenrien’s head aside with a sleepy hand. “Just because you’re staying here doesn’t mean I have to talk to you.” Fenrien huffed and moved out of Loki’s reach when the latter tried to shove him away for a second time. Eventually Fenrien was granted a view of Loki’s back and nothing more.   
“I don’t want to talk with you either. But I do have to ask you something.”

At first Loki remained motionless, refusing to even acknowledge the man’s presence. Fearing that his host might’ve dropped off again, Fenrien gave Loki another small shove.   
“Oh, what is it?” He snapped, sitting upright and glaring at him testily. “What do you want?”

Fenrien simpered and sat himself at the end of the window seat. Loki pulled up his feet, hoping to stay as far away from his newfound companion as possible.   
“I’ll keep this brief,” he began.   
“By all means.”   
“I had to ask this before she awoke because it concerns the good lady sleeping in the next room.”

“(Y/n)? What about her?”  
“She’s a fine woman, no?”

Loki didn’t quite know how to respond to that. He knew what his answer was, of course, but it felt like a baited question.   
“For what purpose would you know my opinion of her? That cannot be the question you wished to ask.”

Chuckling, Fenrien rubbed the back of his neck.   
“You are correct. However, I felt it necessary to offer a preliminary question. A… cushion, of sorts.”

Loki pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled loudly.   
“Just ask what you wish to ask so that I can return to sleep.” Fenrien bit his lip for a moment before continuing. He’d barely met this man. He was staying in his home. Was it polite to be going about this as he was?  
“Very well,” he eventully continued. “Are you and she likely to court in the near future? Do you have any semblance of a romantic interest in her?”

Underneath the deafening silence, Loki heard his heart begin to beat furiously. It felt like it was throwing itself from one side of his ribcage to the other, shaking his bones like they were bars on a cage.   
“I… Uh…” He cleared his throat and felt his cheeks growing hot. Fenrien held up his hands.   
“Because I do not want to tread on anybody’s toes, least of all upon the toes of my most gracious host. Please, if you would have me remain at a distance, insist upon it now.”

Loki tugged at this end of his sleeve and turned to look out the window. His head buzzed like a beehive, each of the insectile thoughts moving too quickly to be grasped at. Loki considered as much as he could as quickly as he could. There was something there; he knew it. There was no more denying how he felt about you, that something flickered within him. All that remained to be seen was whether it would fizzle or burst into flame.

“You… are interested in her?” Loki asked tentatively.   
“Quite, yes. I’ve not known anyone like her before. She makes me laugh; she’s a courageous, intelligent woman; she has a good heart. Such virtues are rare to find in a woman who is also single, eligible, and willing to tolerate my company.”

Knowing all of those things to be true, Loki wondered that it had taken him so long to come to the same conclusion that had taken Fenrien less than a week. Perhaps… Perhaps it would be better to step aside. Where Loki’s intentions were clouded in doubt, Fenrien seemed assured of himself. Loki had heard the way he’d made you laugh the night before too. You evidently enjoyed this man’s company. Perhaps his competitor would be better for you.

Loki lifted his chin higher as he made a resolute decision. It wasn’t for him to interfere in your affairs. It would be selfish of him to discourage Fenrien knowing he would never possess the courage to discuss his own emotions with you. It didn’t matter that he finally knew how he felt. Telling you now would be cruel. If Fenrien could make you happy then…

That’s all Loki wanted.

“She’s… We are not an item. If my permission is what you sought, take it and go.” Loki’s gaze did not waver from the window. He stiffened his upper lip, and persuaded himself to let you go.

Fenrien clapped his hands together and smiled.   
“Perfect! Prepare to see a master at work, my friend.”

Immediately after, he leapt out of the window seat and strode towards the main door. Loki didn’t ask where he was disappearing off to, nor did he care. He pulled up his knees and rested his chin on them. When he shut his eyes, he saw you dancing again – this time with a different partner.

 _You fool_ , his torturous head spat. _All this time wasted! How long did it take you to realise how you felt? Too long, I say. Too long indeed. Not that you’d have had a chance with her if you’d discovered your feelings sooner… Perhaps letting her go is for the best. She deserves better than you._

Only able to tolerate so much self-loathing, Loki was forced to pry his eyes open again. He stared out of the window as Fenrien’s figure became visible in the distance. He approached the border of the woods and swept his hand through the grass, collecting the flowers that grew there.

Hearing the bedroom door open, he was thankful to look away. You emerged from the bedroom looking as you usually did in the mornings. Your hair was terribly unkempt and you rubbed the sleep from your eyes with the balls of your hand. Loki said nothing when you bid him good morning.

“Do you know where Fenrien is?” You asked with a small yawn as you dropped onto the end of the window seat. Loki stewed in silence, causing you to frown. “You haven’t frightened him off already, have you?”

With a twisted smile, Loki reluctantly faced you and felt his stomach lurch. Just looking at you brought everything that he felt to the surface. Over the course of one conversation he’d gone from having no feelings at all about you, to having all of them. He couldn’t bring himself to treat you the same way as before. It felt wrong. It hurt.   
“Me? Scare somebody away? When has that ever worked? You’re still here after all.” For a second you were taken aback, until you realised it must be some sort of joke. You folded your arms and kicked him his foot with your own. Loki sighed curtly. “He’s… stretching his legs, I believe. You know how it is; fresh air, flowers, sunshine...”

You eyed Loki suspiciously. Something was different. Even for him, this seemed hostile. It wasn’t often that you could describe Loki’s behaviour as acrimonious, but the word suddenly seemed rather fitting.

“What happened?” You asked plainly.   
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”   
“Well, where do I start? You’re acting like a spoilt child – much in the same way you did when we first met – and you haven’t been able to look me in the eye for longer than a second.”

Loki wished that he felt worse about how well you knew him. However, before he could turn and explain himself, the main door burst open and an out of breath Fenrien dove inside, slamming it shut behind him.   
“I don’t suppose… either of you… know an angry dwarf… do you?”

* * *

 

It was an easy mistake to make. Brynjolf had emerged from the forest on the far side of the tower. He’d not seen where Fenrien had appeared from, only spying him as he attempted to enter once again. How was he supposed to know that the elf was a guest and not an intruder?   
“Perhaps by asking, rather than sending a knife careening towards my breeches,” Fenrien had muttered sourly afterwards. Brynjolf shrugged innocently.

With a roll of his eyes, Fenrien excused himself from the main room to continue what he’d been doing before Brynjolf’s abrupt arrival. Meanwhile, you were swept into one of your friend’s signature spine-crushing hugs. He laughed heartily as he spun you around – one, two, three times. Loki busied himself with lighting the firepit.

“It’s good to see you again, lady,” Brynjolf said, a string of smiling teeth only just visible amongst his facial hair. You could’ve sworn that it was even messier than last time, were that possible.   
“It’s good to see you too,” you snickered. “What brings you back? Did you miss us already?”

Looking over his shoulder to check that Loki wasn’t listening, Brynjolf pulled the sack from his shoulder and reached into it. He pulled the uppermost item to the top of the bag so it was visible only to you.   
“That village of yours is a right dump, let me tell ye’,” he chuckled. “But they had a good supply of these things. Picked the nicest one I could find.”  
“You’re a star, Brynjolf,” you said, placing your hands either side of his face and planting a big kiss on top of his head. The thought of giving Loki your little gift brightened your mood tenfold.

Brynjolf disappeared for a moment to hide the sack under your bed, at which point Loki looked up from the now-lit firepit. He smiled politely at you.   
“We might have to start charging,” you chuckled. “The amount of guests we’re getting – we could start a business.”  
“Don’t look at me; I’m certainly no hostess.”

Brynjolf returned to the main room at the same time as Fenrien, the latter of whom was hiding something behind his back. He beckoned you closer with an index finger and a devilish smile. Loki felt woozy, and retreated to the other side of the room, where he sat at the writing desk and tried to ignore the ensuing interaction. Brynjolf followed, still ignorant to the new man’s identity.

“I never thought I’d say it,” Loki busied himself with wasting ink on a piece of parchment, “but I am glad you arrived when you did. I never thought I’d be so happy to see you.”  
“Finally found someone who gets your back up more than me, eh?” Brynjolf’s shoulders shook as he gurgled with laughter. Loki let himself smile a little. The dwarf wasn’t wrong.

“Who is Pretty Boy, then, eh? No mention of him last time I was about.”  
“Don’t call him that. His name is Fenrien. He’s trouble, if you ask me.”  
“You’d say that about anyone, I reckon. I meant what’s he doing ‘ere?”   
“(Y/n) rescued him,” Loki jeered, drumming his fingertips loudly against the desk top. He risked a glance over his shoulder and felt his stomach plummet. Fenrien presented the flowers he’d collected for you, though they were slightly squished on account of Brynjolf’s attack. Your face lit up. Hesitantly, you accepted the bouquet and buried your nose among the petals.

Brynjolf watched too, but not as intently. Instead, he eventually turned his focus back to Loki, examining the watchful expression he’d adopted. It was a mixture of agony and envy. Though he was not an especially observant man, Brynjolf had seen enough of combat to identify it. There was a war happening in Loki’s head.

Nudging his friend’s shoulder with a hairy fist, Brynjolf demanded Loki’s attention.   
“What’s gotten into ye’? Jealous?”

Loki ground his jaw and slid his eyes shut for a moment.   
“Don’t. Make your jokes if you must, but pick another subject. Anything but that.” Brynjolf grunted indignantly.   
“Well, am I wrong? I always thought you two would-”  
“I know exactly what you thought, dwarf,” Loki spat, turning away as you put your hands behind Fenrien’s neck and pulled him into a hug, “but it is no longer appropriate. This man is trouble, I tell you.”

Rolling his eyes, Brynjolf watched Fenrien slide his arms around your waist and sweep you off of your feet. The smile on your face was wide and warm. Whoever this elf was, he didn’t seem as horrible as the brooding man by his side insinuated. In fact, you seemed to like him very much! Whatever sympathy Loki was searching for, he wasn’t going to get it from Brynjolf. Not yet anyway.

In fact, having been on the receiving end of it, Brynjolf knew better than to let Loki’s judgement of someone influence his own. When it came to discerning character, he didn’t consider his friend particularly shrewd. If Brynjolf knew him at all – and he liked to believe that he did – Loki had probably acted impulsively, making an impetuous decision, and thinking that he knew better than everybody else. He’d have ignored common sense, and resigned himself to self-pity and sulking afterwards.

The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed. Better to know Fenrien on his own, he decided with a gentle harrumph. Tonight’s meal would undoubtedly be an interesting affair.  
“Oh, whilst I think of it,” Brynjolf said, hoping that a change of subject would brighten Loki’s mood, “I found that thing you asked me to get for the Mrs.”


	29. Chapter 29

It was wonderful to have Brynjolf back in the tower again; his laugh lit up a room like a candle in a cavern. Warm. Inviting. It was impossible to be sullen around him. Or so you had thought. Despite the joviality amongst every other person present, Loki seemed insistent on sulking. You were worried about him. It was one thing to be upset, but this had been going on all day. It felt out of character, even for him.

“So, how did yous two meet?” Brynjolf asked before shovelling hot mashed potato into his mouth. The pair of you been out hunting that afternoon so you could be sure there was enough food to go around; he was exceedingly pleased to see how you handled Duchess, agreeing with himself that she’d been left in the right hands. He’d even taught you a few more tricks! Over the course of one afternoon, your aim, speed, and balance had all improved.  

Fenrien looked at you with a mischievous grin; you laughed nervously. Loki gripped his fork a little harder – at which Brynjolf narrowed his eyes. He could at least act a little less like a green-blooded fool!  
“I, uh, I don’t know where to begin,” you admitted. “I imagine you’ll find it rather funny given how _we_ met.”  
“A story I am also most eager to hear,” Fenrien interjected.

“Fenrien and I met in a jail cell,” you sighed, biting your lip after and examining Brynjolf’s expression. His eyes twinkled with delight.   
“Now what, might I ask, was you doin’ in a jail cell, lady?” Fenrien was holding back a wide grin.   
“I, uh, might’ve been causing mischief with Duchess. Fenrien was roped into the whole thing quite accidentally and in trying to rescue him, I got us both locked up.”

Brynjolf erupted into gloriously loud laughter, clutching his belly and throwing his head back. Loki shielded the top of his bowl from the small droplets of spittle and chewed food that flew from the man’s mouth, disgust evident on his face. You hid a smile with your hand but Loki caught you looking at him anyway and smirked. Pleased, though you were, to see the little grin, it promptly disappeared when the conversation continued.

“Of _course_ that’s what happened,” Brynjolf chortled, wiping a tear from under his right eye. “You just can’t seem to avoid trouble, can ye’?”  
“And what is that supposed to mean?” You asked with mock offense.

By the time Brynjolf had finished describing the knockout bomb incident to Fenrien, your face was red hot. Fenrien was highly amused, partly because of the tale, and partly for the embarrassment that had manifested on your face. It was obvious to all despite how you attempted to conceal it with your hands.   
“You two make me sound positively atrocious – like I’m some sort of daredevil!”  
“Little one, I’ve seen you throw a shoe at a man just to prevent him following the carriage we’d hijacked for our escape.”

Loki’s head snapped up. Your pulse rocketed. New information; you’d not mentioned that part of the story before. Granted, it wasn’t a damning detail but if it led to any more questions… Elbowing Fenrien, he quickly cottoned on and changed the subject.   
“So, Brynjolf, what line of work are you in?”

“Agh,” the dwarf waved his hand around, “nothin’ glamorous. Mining, mostly. In the winter, me and my boys head down the tunnels, pickin’ up this and that. We has just come up for the summer, though. Sellin’ our collected wares to travellers where we can. Yourself?” Despite their rocky start, Brynjolf considered Fenrien to be quite good company. It only confirmed his suspicions that Loki must’ve acted both brash and stupid to believe that such an agreeable man was causing a rift within the Tower.

“I’m afraid I don’t _do_ anything. I left my home a long time ago and have been searching for place and purpose ever since.”  
“Well, ye’ must have some skills.”

Fenrien tapped his chin thoughtfully.   
“Let me think…”   
“You can drive well,” you suggested quickly before placing a cooked carrot into your mouth. His face lit up.   
“That is true! I _can_ drive well. I’m also very good with money – I know when I’m being swindled.” You smirked as you chewed, knowing exactly what he was alluding to. It felt good to have an inside joke, even if it wasn’t a particularly honest one. The reason that Fenrien had _really_ been in prison was definitely something best kept under wraps.

“You don’t do well under pressure though,” you winked at him. “And you’re a terrible liar.” Placing a hand on his chest, Fenrien feigned offense.   
“You wound me, good woman! I shall have you know that I can in fact lie when I have time to prepare, as opposed to being thrust into a situation.”

You sneered at him and he chuckled. Having finished with your meal, you placed the empty bowl on the ground.   
“Despite all that, though, you have charisma in heaps and bounds. Did I tell you he tried to escape the prison by seducing the guards? It didn’t work, but I dare say that that had more to do with them than him.”

“You’ve been noticing my charms, have you, little one?” Fenrien purred, waggling his eyebrows at you and bringing his face closer. You laughed sweetly and pushed his face away teasingly. Loki felt bile in his throat. Brynjolf looked between the elf, who continued to flirt and tease, and Loki, who looked like he might wretch in the fire pit.

After making a few astute deductions, he realised what must’ve happened.

With a wicked smile, Brynjolf interrupted your game, just as Fenrien made to bring his face closer to yours again.   
“Why don’t ye’ come and work for me?” He declared.

Silence suddenly befell the room. Everyone’s eyes were on the dwarf. Fenrien tittered nervously.   
“I’m… sorry?”  
“Come and work with me and my boys.”

Loki’s eyes were wide. What was he _doing_? Even you hadn’t seen such an offer coming; the two men barely knew each other and here they sat in talks of employment! Fenrien’s ears grew hot with nerves. Brynjolf hoped to quell that with a little more explanation.   
“6 months of the year, my boys and I are down them mines completely cut off from the world. We don’t know what the situation is topside until we come up for air. Crikey, even now the value of our stock could be double what it was last year and we’d have no idea. I dare say we could use someone who knows when they is being swindled, as ye’ said. As well as that, with someone always topside sellin’ our goods, we can go down the mine more! Profits would double!” He laughed raucously at the thought. “Plus, if you can drive a cart, then we don’t have to stick in one place. We don’t have a horse yet, but it could be an investment, ye’ know?”

Fenrien’s eyelashes seemed to flutter with how often he was blinking. Excitement had gotten the better of him; was this too good to be true? Even Loki licked his lips nervously.   
“Good sir, surely you cannot be serious. You do not even know me.”

Brynjolf nodded slowly.   
“Ain’t that the truth. However, our mutual friend here can vouch for you I’m sure,” he said, gesturing in your direction. Nodding profusely, you took Brynjolf’s waiting hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. You wanted to jump up and down – this was fantastic! Fenrien and Brynjolf working together; it made so much sense to you. Fenrien would be perfect as a salesman, not to mention that he’d finally have somewhere to settle down. A job, new friends, and a place to rest his head – how could he refuse? Brynjolf’s business would boom with the added pair of hands, and as such he’d hopefully have more spare time. Granted the horse and cart would take the pair of them further away, but it also meant that when they visited, you’d see both of your friends at once. The advantages seemed endless.  
“Yes, I will absolutely vouch for him.”

Fenrien knew he wouldn’t get another opportunity like this. He’d promised not to stay in the Tower long, that he’d stay with you only until he’d found his feet…  
“I… I don’t know what to say.”  
“I mean, I hopes you’ll say yes,” Brynjolf chuckled, patting your hands before pulling away, “but if ye’ like, take the night to decide. I needs a good rest anyway.”

Just like that, Brynjolf stood and sucked in a large breath. He felt very proud of himself. Clever and conniving, but proud. After adjusting his belt, he bid everybody a good night and retreated to the bedroom.  You knew that as soon as his butt hit that chair, he’d be immovable until morning. The thought was amusing and if you hadn’t already been beaming, you might’ve smiled some more.

An anxious Fenrien stood also, explaining that he intended to bathe before he turned in for the night. You could see his trembling hands; it was all too much. He’d told you in the stables how anxious he was about messing up, about doing things wrong in a world he’d been removed from for so long. Perhaps you’d try and convince him to accept later that night.

Eventually it was you and Loki alone in the room. You were reminded again that he’d said very little all evening. You hoped that the prospect of Fenrien leaving soon might cheer him up. He always was sour towards new company.

“Isn’t that exciting?” You said with a bitten lip as you crawled across the floor towards him.   
“The only thing that excites me is the idea of having this tower to myself again,” he chuckled grimly. His statement confused you, eliciting a light laugh.   
“Yourself? Am I not in this hypothetical future of yours? Do I disappear into a cloud of smoke? Or perhaps I gain powers of invisibility! That’d be interesting.”

Loki made no response. This glumness had persisted all day and if it had worried you before, now you were downright concerned. You placed yourself adjacent to him and pushed his shoulder playfully with your own. He looked up with raised eyebrows.   
“What’s going on?” You asked. He hesitated before responding.   
“I suppose I… I assumed that when Fenrien left, you’d go with him.”

Your mouth fell open, and you blinked hard.  
“Where on earth would you get an idea like that? I don’t intend to leave with Brynjolf or Fenrien.”  
“You only say that because… because he hasn’t asked you yet.”

* * *

 

Fenrien emerged from the bathroom with a comb between his teeth, gathering his hair into a messy bun atop his head. Brynjolf was – as you’d predicted – completely comatose, slumped in the chair beside the bathroom door with his mouth hanging open and a gruesome trail of saliva dribbling from the corner of it. When he snored loudly and shuffled in his chair, Fenrien almost jumped out of his skin.

“If I were to give reasons for turning down his kind offer, his snoring would be one of them,” he murmured as he finished tying his hair up and approached the bed. He placed the comb on the bedside chest and slipped under the covers next to you.   
“Still thinking about it?” you asked, leaning casually on your side. Fenrien erred.

“I was trying to make up my mind whilst I bathed but to no avail.”  
“What’s stopping you? What’s holding you back?”  
“Fear, though I doubt you are surprised to hear it. I just… If I get a job, I want to do it well. This Brynjolf, as unkempt as he appears, is a professional. I would not jeopardise his company by screwing up.”

You nodded respectfully.   
“I understand your concerns, but Brynjolf isn’t one to give up on a person because they made a mistake. If he did, I’d never have made it back to the tower the day that he found me. He’s a good man. He’ll take care of you.” Seeing that your words hadn’t done much by way of helping, you frowned. “And– And I’ll shoot him with his own crossbow if he doesn’t!”

“You are too good to me, little one. How I was lucky enough to meet you, I shall never know,” he said softly, playing with a loose strand of your hair. “Would you come with me if I left?”

“No, Fenrien, I wouldn’t.” You watched his expression carefully, pleased to see that he didn’t appear shocked by your answer, albeit a little disappointed. Though you’d had no hesitation in your mind about your response to Fenrien’s question, you were admittedly a little astonished that it had come about – how had Loki anticipated it? Had Fenrien discussed his intentions with him? It didn’t seem likely. After all, they hadn’t been fast friends. Dispelling your curiosities, you continued to explain. “You know I couldn’t leave him. This is my home.”

Nodding sadly, Fenrien dropped his eyes for a moment. The two of you were lying parallel at this point, heads on your respective pillows but still facing one another. Everything felt very snug and comfortable. Warm orange candlelight bathed the room in an amber glow, and there was a timidity in your stomach as shadows bathed Fenrien’s dark, honey-coloured skin in gold. There were no sounds to be heard apart from the occasional shift of your legs under the sheets and the low rumble of Brynjolf’s sleeping form in the corner. Fenrien eventually met your gaze again. You could feel his breath on your nose, the two of you were so close.

“Then… may I visit you? I’ve grown somewhat accustomed to having you around.”  
“Of course you can visit,” you smiled. What would make him think you’d say no?

Once again, Fenrien found himself playing with your hair. He brushed it behind your ear where his hand remained, cupping your cheek. He was watching you fondly, and began to stroke your cheekbone with his thumb.

Temptation won out against timidity and Fenrien’s eyes slid shut as he brought his face towards your own.  He pressed his lips to yours and waited for you to pull away. You didn’t. Instead, your hand slid up to his collar bone and lightly gripped the material of his shirt. Everything about him was drawing you in; the way he smelled like charcoal, the softness of his hair and skin, everything… The kiss was sweet, and tender, Fenrien’s hand remaining beside your cheek and caressing you as you kissed. His movements were gentle and mild, teasing and enticing you. And yet – strangely enough – you couldn’t bring yourself to kiss him back.

When at last it was over, Fenrien’s eyes fluttered open as he reluctantly pulled away. He was feeling all manners of elation – but he knew.   
“Nothing?”   
“I’m sorry,” you muttered apologetically, biting your lip and patting his chestly affectionately. “I don’t know what it is, or why, but… no. Nothing.”

“Never apologise for such a thing,” he said with a forlorn smile. Using the hand still upon your cheek, he tilted your head down and pressed his mouth to your forehead. “You cannot help what you do or do not feel. Just know that whomsoever wins your heart shall have both my envy and my applause. Do not apologise simply because I am not he.”

“You’re a good man, Fen,” you murmured, pulling his hand into yours so that you could clutch it gently instead.   
“I really am,” he chuckled. “You’re missing out.”

You beat your fist against his chest and laughed again. At least he didn’t appear _too_ broken up about it! After a little more conversation, you eventually bid each other goodnight. You rolled over and placed your hand under the pillow to lean on as you slept. Fenrien draped his arm over your waist. Whereas he dropped off almost instantly, the beating of your heart denoted that you would be awake for some time.

Sure enough, several hours passed and your eyes hadn’t closed save for slow blinking. It didn’t make any sense, you told yourself. Fenrien was both attractive and of sound mind. The two of you were compatible, similar ages, and comfortable around each other. Intelligence, compassion, and sensitivity were only the beginning of the virtues he possessed. Everything in your head dictated that you should’ve – or could’ve – felt something towards him.

So why didn’t you?

Abandoning your futile attempt at sleep, you rolled out of Fenrien’s reach and slipped from the bed. Even after sneaking into the bathroom to splash water on your face, your mind buzzed with activity. Was there no curtailing these insufferable thoughts?

You pulled a blanket from under the bed and wrapped it around your shoulders as you stepped into the main room. Given how early everybody had turned in for the night, the fire had long since been extinguished and the room had been drowned in cold. Somehow, Loki still managed to sleep.

With a fond smile, you walked to his side and perched on the edge of the window seat. Between the dead firepit, the uncomfortable seating, and the open window by which he snoozed, Loki’s ability to fall asleep despite the circumstances appeared to be a bonafide superpower. You removed the blanket from your shoulders, and draped it carefully over the top of him. Somehow the cool night air hadn’t penetrated him as it had you. A chill settled into your bones with the removal of your shawl and you rubbed your upper arms vigorously.

It felt nice being able to take care of Loki like this. Often he was too prickly, defensive, or stubborn to let you do so. Now, however, he simply snuffled in his sleep and disturbed a few pieces of hair which then fell over his eyes. You smirked and pushed them aside, letting your fingers trail across his cheekbones as you did so. You brushed the hair behind his ear… and let your hand linger.

Your mind was immediately cast back to Fenrien’s hand lingering in much the same way. Images gushed into your mind like a waterfall would flood a pond.

You shook your head violently. You jumped to your feet, suddenly short of breath. Loki rolled over in his sleep and exhaled loudly. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. Chewing your lip, you blinked repeatedly and deliberately, trying to gather your thoughts, to focus them. All you could hear was the drumming of your heart; the heaving of your chest; the rushing blood in your ears; you were drowning in realisation. Looking over your shoulder, you gazed at the ajar bedroom door, through which you knew Fenrien to be sleeping.  You looked back at Loki. Fenrien… Loki…

“Oh,” you whispered, falling onto your back foot with surprise. Every second, you took another step back, putting distance between yourself and Loki.

It was him. It had been him all along. How had you not seen it sooner? How could you have missed this?

Turning on your heel, you made to rush back to the bedroom, back to safety, only to trip over your own feet in your disorientation. You stumbled and slipped, but recovered as best you could before hitting the ground. Whipping your head around, you prayed to the high heavens that you’d not awoken Loki. Thankfully not.

You leapt through the bedroom door and slammed it shut behind you. Diving amongst the bed covers, you wrapped yourself up in the duvet and squeezed your eyes shut. Despite clammy hands and the racing of your heart, a guilty smile broke out onto your face.

It was him.


	30. Chapter 30

Loki held your face tenderly, his palms grazing your cheeks and his slender fingers reaching back through your hair where they dusted the back of your neck. He closed his eyes and leaned in for a kiss. You braced yourself for the sensation, holding your breath as goose bumps prickled on your arms, and the hair on your skin stood to attention. He brushed his lips over your own lightly, not kissing you but teasing, making you want it.

You smiled, bit your lip, and sighed with ecstasy. Desire made your body lean, reaching out for his touch. He moved his lips east, pressing a drawn-out kiss onto your cheek and letting his mouth linger over your skin. One of his hands moved from your neck down to your hip, gripping it sharply and pulling you into him. He tilted your head and placed his lips to the shell of your ear. What was he going to do?

Sensing your excitement, Loki’s mouth stretched into a wicked, filthy grin. He chuckled lowly into your ear and your knees went weak. His voice was thick and guttural, dripping with intent. Your heart suffered palpitations when he laughed again, this time quietly, letting his whispered breath cause you to shiver. He drew breath for a second time, preparing to speak, and you waited on his next words with baited breath.

“You lied to me.”

 

Crack! You sat bolt upright. Your throat felt like a vice, tightening with no release and you whimpered as you gasped and gagged for air. A few beads of sweat littered your forehead. Your knuckles were white as you clutched at the bedsheets.

Fenrien had been stood by the windowsill, brushing his hair. He flew to your side and gripped your shoulders.   
“Hey, hey, it’s alright, you’re okay. It’s me, I’m here. Remember this beautiful face? Look at it, look at me; everything’s fine.”

Licking your lips, you were suddenly aware of how dry your mouth felt. Your eyes, however… They were moistening more and more every second. You blinked rapidly, resisting the urge to cry.    
“Loki…” You whispered between deep breaths. “Loki, I…”  
“You’re right,” Fenrien nodded. “I’ll go and get him.”

“No!” You yelled, grabbing Fenrien’s arm and almost pulling the poor man to the floor. “No, I can’t face him. Not now.”

If he hadn’t already been alarmed by your behaviour, Fenrien would’ve taken that as the biggest warning sign. Your wide eyes were staring forward fiercely, like you were focused on something he couldn’t see. He lowered himself onto the mattress beside you, stroking your hair in the hopes of calming you down. It took a few minutes but eventually, your grip on his wrist softened.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked.   
“There’s… There’s nothing to talk about. I know what I have to do.” Fenrien remained quiet, waiting to see what had distressed you this much. You still looked on the verge of tears.

“I have to tell him what happened. I have to tell Loki the truth.”

* * *

 

Loki turned his head when he heard the bedroom door open.   
“I heard a commotion,” he said as Fenrien crossed the room. “Is everything alright?”  
“(Y/n) had a bad dream, but it is nothing to fear. She is fine.”

Loki sniffed.   
“Yes, I’m sure you took care of her just fine.”

Fenrien did not wait for an invitation before seating himself in front of Loki. The latter gentleman looked absolutely mortified. _How dare he parade about the Tower in such a manner! The arrogance of this man was unbridled. If he were not leaving today, well, Loki would… He would…  
_ “Are you sure that there is no spark between yourself and (y/n)?” He asked.

Loki’s thoughts flatlined.   
“What? Why? Did she say that? Did she say there was something between us?”

Fenrien chuckled and held his hands up.   
“No, no, but…” He raised an inquisitive eyebrow and examined Loki’s fervent expression. “Though I’m sure it means nothing to you, I thought it pertinent to tell you that I will bowing out of the race for the good lady’s heart. I concede defeat.”

Loki’s change in demeanour was subtle, but Fenrien had been expecting it, watching and waiting for it. He perceived the myriad of thoughts that were unfolding in Loki’s eyes. Could it be true? Could he have a second chance? Noticing that he’d earnt Fenrien’s scrupulous attention, he cleared his throat and straightened his posture, hoping to appear casual. Needless to say, he did not.   
“I don’t… Why do you think I should care? Why do you think I needed to know this?”

Fenrien raised his eyebrows.   
“That depends on you. If your pride demands it, then I only told you because I informed you of my intentions in the first place. I am simply keeping you informed. However, if you wish for the truth…” He narrowed his eyes again, awaiting Loki’s reaction, “then I am telling you because I suspect that you are the reason I failed. The good lady, as wise as she is, fails to see how much of a catch I am. She feels nothing for me.”

“She… doesn’t?” Loki asked tentatively. His face fell innocently and Fenrien’s heart warmed at the sight. He wasn’t sure how you’d managed to do so, but it seemed that the mere mention of your name was enough to thaw this man’s heart. The premise alone improved Fenrien’s mood tenfold. Loki’s eyes began to twinkle.

“But what about you?” Fenrien inquired, tilting his head marginally. Loki scoffed loudly and tried to sit upright again.   
“I don’t know what you’re referring to.”   
“Oh, do not act so coy, my friend! With such a calibre of woman around, you mean to convince me that you feel not a morsel of affection for her? You mean to say that there is absolutely nothing between the two of you?”  
“I… I mean we’re not… not technically… but I…” Loki cleared his throat. “It’s possible that…”

Knowing he’d already lost his train of thought, Loki abandoned his sentence. All he could think of was the line in La Belle Au Bois Dormant. ‘The less there is of eloquence, the more there is of love.’ Fenrien noticed it too. With a smirk, he stood up and folded his arms behind his back. Loki watched the elf fiercely as he waltzed back into the bedroom with a mischievous grin curling onto his lips.

* * *

 

Brynjolf squeezed you tightly, as it seemed was customary every time he left your company. Loki was stood closely behind you, and winced at the sight. It genuinely looked like you would be snapped in half!   
“I’ll be back soon, lady,” Brynjolf beamed. “As soon as I’ve broken this one in. Now, don’t you go getting yourself into trouble again whilst I’m gone.”  
“Try and stop me,” you said, giving him a chaste kiss on his cheek. He placed his large hands either side of your face and patted affectionately, before turning for the door. Loki stopped him.

“Brynjolf…” He mumbled, before clearing his throat and looking off to the right. The dwarf raised a singular eyebrow and turned slowly to face the slender man. If it was a hug the prince wanted, he could sod off. After a momentary pause, however, Loki extended his hand.   
“Thank you,” he said in as sincere of a voice as he could muster. After narrowing his eyes and wondering what the catch was, Brynjolf clapped his hand into that which was offered and shook it firmly.   
“I’m sure I don’t know what ye’ mean,” he said with a wink. Loki smirked.

You rolled your eyes. Whatever strange inside joke they were sharing, you didn’t want to know. Fenrien wrapped his arms around you and stroked your hair fondly.   
“Do your best,” you whispered into his ear. “You’ll do fine, and Brynjolf will take care of you.”  
“Thank you, little one.”

After wishing him a fond farewell, you assumed that Fenrien and Brynjolf would immediately take their leave. However, the former surpassed you and approached Loki with confidence. Thinking nothing of it, you struck up a conversation with Brynjolf, asking when his troop would next be passing the Tower. You also intended to thank him again for the gift he’d delivered.

“Whatever you’re thinking of doing,” Loki warned, raising a cautious finger towards the approaching man, “don’t even try it.” Fenrien offered Loki his hand innocently, but the familiar glint in his eye told the trickster that it wouldn’t be that simple. Sure enough, as soon as he had a hold of him, Fenrien pulled Loki closer.   
“Fear not, friend of mine,” he whispered. “Your secret is safe with me. I’m sure you’ll make her very happy one day, and she you.” Once Loki had been released, he stepped back with wide eyes.   
“That’s- That’s not what I said! I confessed nothing of the sort to you – and we aren’t friends!”

“Ah, Loki,” Fenrien laughed theatrically, grasping his shoulders and placing a kiss on each of Loki’s cheeks. “If that were true, if I were not your friend, I would not have your permission to tell the beautiful woman how you feel!”

Loki’s eyes widened further. Fenrien had already turned to leave, touching your shoulder affectionately as he passed you. You waved a small goodbye.   
“You don’t!” Loki called after the retreating elf. “You don’t have my permission to do that!”

“Yet another falsehood, my friend,” he laughed, waving to Loki as he followed Brynjolf out the door. You watched the encounter, amused but perplexed.   
“Fenrien-” Loki growled.   
“Goodbye, friend. I shall see you soon, no?”


	31. Chapter 31

The rest of the day passed much without consequence. No matter how much you asked, Loki refused to divulge what Fenrien had no permission to do, nor what he’d thanked Brynjolf for. You couldn’t help but feel as though both were connected. Your ignorance was infuriating.

When you eventually admitted defeat, it was decided that you’d instead busy yourself with cleaning up after your newly-departed guests. By the time you’d finished removing the ashes from the firepit, the sun was beginning to set. Loki had helped you clean for a while but at the first signs of dusk, he’d hurried to seat himself by the open window. You knew what tonight was, and you bit your lip in anticipation. It was time.

Loki waited patiently by the windowsill as the sky turned an inky blue and the first pinpricks of starlight revealed themselves.  
“I’ll, uh,” you cleared your throat. “I’ll be right back.”  
“Move quickly or you’ll miss it,” he whispered, trepidation laden in his voice. You beamed at the sight and rushed into the other room, reaching under the bed for the gift you’d had Brynjolf seek out.

At the sound of you calling to him, Loki tore his eyes away from the night-time.  
“Loki? Can you do me a favour? Can you extinguish the lights?”

He furrowed his brow.  
“Why?”  
“Just… Just do it. You’ll thank me later.”

Rolling his eyes, Loki waved a nonchalant hand through the air. Each of the candelabras hissed as their lights went out.  
“Did you do-”  
“Yes, I’ve done it,” Loki grumbled. What could possibly be so important that you would…?

Loki’s thoughts dissipated before his very eyes as the bedroom door opened. A warm yellow circle was being reflected in the clear grey ice. His eyes tapered. When you stepped tentatively into the room, his breath stilled completely. You were holding the light source between your hands, a glowing sphere made of canvas and reed. A lantern. The sight near enough made him want to cry.

Seeing the expression on his face – and the way he forced himself to sit down so that he could cope – you broke into a quiet smile.  
“I’d hoped you’d like it,” you murmured. He shook his head, and disbelief spilled from his eyes. “I had Brynjolf pick it up for me. It’s been hidden under the bed all day.”

You brought the lantern closer and Loki remained speechless. The candle within flickered invitingly and his eyes were fixated on it until he looked up at you, silent gratitude written upon his features. You’d done this for him? Appreciation didn’t cover half of what he felt at that moment. Adoration. That was much closer. It didn’t make sense to him, that you would have such an effect, such a hold, upon him.

Though he knew he couldn’t, he longed to kiss you and show you truly how he felt, how he loved you for what you’d done. He’d never felt this way before, and… he wasn’t entirely sure if he liked it. He felt powerless; completely at the whim of his emotions.

You took his hand carefully and placed it under the bottom of the lantern, letting him take the lead. He accepted the gift slowly, eyes drawn to the flame within. He felt your hand brush his when you made to step away. He couldn’t allow that! Loki grasped your wrist and brought your hand back to the lantern, sliding his other arm around your waist and holding you close. Together, you turned and leaned out of the open window. The lantern was thrust into the atmosphere where it was swept up by a cool breeze and carried away.

It was free for only a moment before its kin were visible in the distance, rising slowly and racing to the moon. You heard a quiet cry escape Loki’s lips. Then a sniff. Bowing your head, you afforded him some privacy. Any other time you’d have made jokes, but you knew what this meant to him. If he only he knew what the festival itself meant… Why it was being held… Guilt festered in your stomach.

“I, um,” Loki cleared his throat suddenly and turned to clamber out of the window seat. “I have something for you too.”  
“Oh?” As Loki departed, you turned and made to sit down when a gust of wind sent a chill down your spine. You promptly pulled the window shut, reminding yourself to open it again in the morning.

When you turned back towards him, Loki was opening the top drawer of the writing desk and reaching inside. Your heart jumped into your throat. Not now, you begged. Not yet… Anything but that. If he noticed that something was missing, however, Loki didn’t let on. Instead, he retrieved a small wooden box with peeling golden flecks on the corners, and held it out to you as he edged closer.

You accepted the gift, admittedly a little underwhelmed. Were you supposed to know what it was? Perhaps a jewellery box? Or had Loki made it on a whim? Maybe it had no purpose at all. Just a… decorative block of wood.  
“Open it,” he chuckled, eyeing the expression of confusion on your face as he seated himself next to you. Delicately you lifted the box’s lid and a tiny figurine rose up from the centre; a small brunette woman in a golden ballgown danced with a man in a royal blue coat. The tune that trickled into your ears was oddly familiar.

“It’s a… music box,” you declared, wondering quite what the significance was supposed to be. Had you missed something? Loki rolled his eyes.  
“Nothing gets past you, does it? Look again. Turn it- Turn it, there, upside down, yes, that way.”

Squinting, you realised that there was an engraving on the underside of the box, scratched rather haphazardly. It looked like… With a gasp, you were hit with the realisation of what this music box was – or rather whose it was.  
“You’re not the only one who asked Brynjolf to search for something,” Loki explained. “I remembered what you told me about the first time you came here – trying to sell your music box for a few palace books – and as I suspected, someone had found it, fixed it, and was attempting to sell it off.”

Tears bristled in your eyes and you covered your gaping mouth with your hand. He had remembered, after all this time?  
“Loki, I…”  
“I understand it’s not much but-”

Throwing your arms around him, you buried your face into Loki’s neck and thanked him over, and over, and over again. He remained quiet, patting your back awkwardly. Even when it was out of happiness, he felt lost every time you cried.  
“If I’d have known you would weep on my clothing, I’d have let it be,” he muttered. You laughed suddenly and pulled back, wiping the tears from the corners of your eyes as you examined your childhood music box for a second time.  
“Oh, don’t start. I still can’t believe you found it. The village market this whole time?” Loki nodded. “I wonder that my father didn’t notice it.”

“Never mind _him_ ,” Loki snorted. You pursed your lips in a thin smile. “ _I_ found it and got it for you. You may tell me how fantastic I am now.”  
“Oh, yes, Loki, and so humble too.”

With his signature smirk, Loki stood and took the music box from you, placing it on the seat in his stead. The light, tinkling sound continued to emanate from the mechanisms within; the song was a nursery rhyme from your childhood, something your mother had sung along to. It reminded you of the village. Loki placed his right foot behind his left and bowed slightly, holding his hand out to you at the same time.  
“May I?” He asked. With a giddy grin and a knot in your stomach, you bowed your head politely and accepted, letting him pull you into his arms and whisk you into the centre of the room.

At his magic’s request, the firepit disappeared and granted you the whole room to dance in. The ice began to sparkle as the candelabras reignited and set the room aglow. Loki’s face was soft and kind, watching you with sincere admiration as you turned circles around the floor.

“I… I have something I wish to tell you,” he said, voice quivering a little. Your heart picked up speed. Shaking your head, you realised that you too had a confession to make. You couldn’t let him go on like this whilst it burdened your soul.  
“As do I.”

“You do?” He asked, head lifting with surprise.  
“Yes. It’s… It’s partially to do with myself and Fenrien.”

Loki’s mind was cast back to what Fenrien had said. _I am telling you because I suspect that you are the reason I failed. The good lady… She feels nothing for me._ Could it be…? His heart skipped a beat. Could you wish to say the very same thing as he? He let you continue talking in earnest anticipation, breaths heavy but heart light.

“I admit it’s not going to be the easiest thing to confess,” you sighed curtly, leaning forward and resting your head against his chest to comfort yourself. “However, it’s been eating me up from the inside. I can go on no longer without you knowing.”  
“I know just how you feel,” Loki said breathlessly, spinning you slowly in a circle and stopping so he could bend you back over his arm.

Whilst dipped, he watched your mouth open tentatively and prepared himself for the words he’d longed to hear for so long.

“I met your brother.”

* * *

 

You hit the floor hard but ignored the pain in your hip to look up at Loki. Was he mad? Was he upset? Had you panicked him? You could care less that he’d dropped you; but if you’d upset him…  
“You… What?” Loki was frozen, stood upright, eyes distant and dissociative. He took a step back, running a hand through his hair. Mention of his brother was affecting him more than you’d anticipated.

Dropping your head, you sat up properly and forced yourself to gather more courage.  
“I met your brother. It was completely accidental - his hunting party thought I was game and shot at me. He actually saved my life by stopping them.”

With a disbelieving smile, Loki met your gaze again, which was riddled with guilt over what you’d concealed. What a strange thing to feel so poorly about! He sighed and got to one knee, taking your hand again and helping you to your feet. As you were led back to the window seat, he spoke.  
“And you thought I would be mad about something so trivial?”  
“I didn’t know what you’d think!” You admitted anxiously. It made you nervous that he was taking it so well when there was so much more, so much worse, to come.

“What does this have to do with Fenrien then?” He asked, shutting the music box so that he could properly pay attention. His own confession could wait for now, he resolved. He’d waited long enough – what was a few more minutes?  
“Well, I sort of… got myself arrested. Not by the villagers as we… _I_ told you, but by Thor. Fenrien was already in the prison when I was thrown in – he’d been there a year before I met him. We helped each other escape.”

Loki was stunned into silence. Thor had arrested you! At first, he wanted to be mad. How could you have kept this from him? Why? Then again, he’d known all along that something didn’t add up about your alibi; he knew that you’d lied to him. As a result, it was difficult to be shocked, save for the involvement of Thor. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more amusing it became. It mattered so very little! He even found himself laughing.  
“I’m just picturing it,” he chuckled, waving dismissively when he caught sight of your mystified expression. “Of _course_ he arrested you. That says so much of the both of you. Clearly he hasn’t changed.”

Maybe Fenrien had been right all along, you hypothesised. Maybe telling Loki the truth wasn’t so difficult. He had already taken your first two admissions in his stride, raising himself in your esteem proportionally. There was simply the final matter, albeit the most difficult of the three.

“I suppose it makes sense. As meddlesome as I am, I’m not stupid enough to interfere in someone else’s arrest.”  
“There is still something you’re not telling me, however,” Loki replied calmly. “Something you _were_ stupid enough to do. Why did my brother arrest you?”

Your courage faltered for a second time. This time, however, Loki sensed your unease and reached forward, taking your hands with his own. He gave you a look that broke your heart. Trust. He trusted you. The news up until now had set a standard that he expected you to meet – a standard of ‘oh, that’s not so bad’. But you knew better. This was going to be very bad.

"I... tried to tell him where you were.”  
“Right…?”  
“And he didn't believe me so I- I sent him one of the letters I found in your writing desk."

Loki’s jaw tensed. That was… Well, he certainly hadn’t expected that. Standing hastily, he ripped himself out of your reach and approached the open drawer of the writing desk. As you’d claimed, a letter was indeed missing. Loki felt sick. He leaned both hands on the desk and tucked his head in. What had you done? Any chance he’d had of reaching out to his brother, convincing him that he was alive, that he needed rescuing… Gone.

“If,” you snivelled. “If it’s any consolation, he misses you terribly. Everyone thinks you are dead and-"  
"He thinks I'm dead?!" Loki cried, turning to face you with watery eyes. You dropped your head like lightning. As you’d expected, this had gone very bad. Very, _very_ bad.  
“That’s why I didn’t tell you,” you whispered, like a deflated balloon. "How do you say such a thing to someone without hurting them?"

Without a word, Loki shakily dropped into the writing desk’s chair.  
"I thought if I could just make him see, that he'd be able to free you. Those lanterns that you see every so often? They mark the beginning and the end of a festival he holds in your honour!"  
“You mean in my memory,” he growled. You looked away and brushed a tear from your cheek.

Unable to look at you, Loki thrust his hands amongst his hair and let his head sink. You played with the hem of your sleeve, not sure what to do with yourself. It was killing you to see him this way, to know that you’d caused this, but you also knew that you were the last person he would accept help from for now.

He didn’t move for two minutes, at which point you were forced to intervene.  
“Please, say something.”  
“What would you have me say?” He spat, and you recoiled with tears brimming on the edge of your vision again.  
“Something. Anything. What- What was it you wanted to tell me?”

Loki shut his eyes and curled further in on himself. He couldn’t… Not now…  
“It matters little,” he whimpered. “I haven’t the courage anymore.”

His words punctured your skin and tore you apart from the inside out. You had done this. You had ripped courage from the one man you cared about. How could you have done this to him? Without hesitation, you raced to his side, getting to your knees and looking up at his war-torn face.  
"Please, Loki, I know I did wrong. Any other time I'd get upset and defend myself but this time... I beg you, get angry in my stead. At least when you're angry with me, I know what to do. I can fix things, with a stupid picnic or by getting feisty or storming away to a near-death experience! But this... This quiet... I don't know what to do. I can't go on knowing I've hurt you this much."

"Because you feel bad, correct?” He roared, standing and turning on you suddenly. You tumbled backwards and hit the floor, gazing up at him like a wounded animal. “Because you've kept this secret for so long that it's finally affecting you? You only told me because your frail little conscience couldn’t take another blow! Well, I have news for you - not everything should have to affect you before you act, nor does everyone need the help you're so desperate to give out when you want to make yourself feel better. In fact, I'd wager I _never_ needed your help. Not now, nor even when you first arrived! You hear me?” His breaths were deep and heavy. “I don't need you."

Tears smudged your sight. Your mouth was agape, and your bottom jaw quivered with upset. How had this gone so terribly wrong? It took you a minute to gather your thoughts, in which time Loki had turned away from you once again and collapsed into the chair. He clasped his hands and placed them under his chin.  
“You… You don’t mean that,” you stammered. “You’re just upset, and- and I understand.”

Without help, you clambered to your feet. Loki sat pensively, glaring at the wall in front of him. In one last attempt to resolve the situation, you placed a hand on his shoulder. It was ripped immediately out of your reach.  
“Leave me!” You recoiled suddenly.

With nothing else to be done, you left Loki to his own company and retreated to the bedroom, hesitating at the door for a second and glancing over your shoulder. As soon as you were gone, Loki lowered his head onto the desk. He pulled his arms around himself and wept quietly into the wood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart by [@losermagoo](https://loser-magoo.tumblr.com/post/169300718611/so-i-didnt-have-any-time-to-shade-it-or-anything), [@wanderingworldwarrior](https://wanderingworldwarrior.tumblr.com/post/169258974904/heeeey-littlemisssyreid-i-felt-like-drawing) and [@princessinfernal](https://princesseinfernal.tumblr.com/post/169357994889/littlemisssyreid-i-was-rereading-the-tower-and):  
>   
>   
> 


	32. Chapter 32

The next morning came far too quickly. You hadn’t slept a wink all night, worrying about what the morning would bring. You whiled away the first few hours by weeping into a pillow. He was right; of course, he was right. You’d only told him the truth because it was tarnishing your conscience, because you’d realised how you’d felt about him and couldn’t bear the thought that you’d lied to the man you cared for. Perhaps if you explained as much to him – if you’d told him how you felt – he would be forgiving…

Or he’d throw you out.

Your mind tormented you throughout the restless night, causing you to toss and turn. The image of Loki’s wrath plagued your mind; he threw you out into the cold in a million different ways and each was more heart-breaking than the last. When you rolled over for the umpteenth time that night, you caught sight of the sun streaming through the window. Morning.

No matter what happened, you’d be leaving the tower today for some reason. Either you’d be leaving to forage food before returning to a cold and silent home – would it take another year for Loki to warm up to you again? – or you’d be cast out by the man you’d betrayed, told never to return, and forced back to the village on your hands and knees.

As you pulled the cloak and hood over your shoulders, you raised your chin a little in the hopes of brewing some courage in your belly. Perhaps you’d make the decision for him. Perhaps you’d leave for good, of your own accord, and afford yourself some dignity.

But then where would you go?

With a dejected sigh, you collected your basket and Duchess, and turned the bedroom door handle.  

Loki hadn’t moved. He was slumped over the desk, where you’d left him the night previously, completely comatose as far as you could tell. You felt sick to your very core. Just knowing what you’d done, how you’d broken him, made you want to run away and never come back.

Touching his shoulder didn’t stir him; he must’ve exhausted himself. Kneeling next to him, you pushed the hair out of his face and spotted how red his eyes were. You’d never seen Loki cry, but you imagined it still bore the same symptoms. Red, puffy eyes, stung cheeks, and fatigue.

Though you weren’t sure exactly how to move him, you knew that Loki couldn’t stay at the desk. He needed help. Dropping your basket and Duchess on the floor, you placed one hand under his chin, another against his chest, and heaved. With a little effort, his back straightened and sat upright against the chair. You’d intended to place your hands under his legs and lift him, but his droopy head wobbled as he was slowly awoken.

You froze. Loki’s tired eyes fluttered open and examined his surroundings. His eyes met yours and for the moment, no words were spoken. There was something in his eyes you couldn’t fathom. It didn’t seem like hatred or anger, nor did it feel pleasant. He seemed… empty. Lost. Like he didn’t know what to think, or feel. He was watching you like you were a dream.

“You… You can’t stay here,” you whispered, biting your lip. “I can take care of you but not on my own.”  
“I can walk,” he replied, with a croaking, hoarse voice. Slowly and shakily, Loki put his hand on the desk and pushed himself onto his feet. You positioned yourself under his arm and let him limp across the room with your support.

Loki was headed for the window seat. However, you refused to let him reach it, taking control and steering him towards the bedroom door instead. He was too tired to protest. Once his head hit the pillow, you picked up the bedsheets from the foot of the mattress and pulled them up to his waist, kneeling beside him afterwards. You watched his face intently and stroked a strand of his hair aside. He uttered no words – until you made to stand and silently leave.

“He’s… He’s the only family I have left,” he croaked. “But you knew that, right?” You nodded reluctantly.   
“I knew that. Would you believe me if I said that’s why I wanted to help?”

Loki didn’t respond. He was suffering from a whirlwind of emotions, none of which he knew how to correctly process. Everyone he knew believed him dead; his own brother might have been forced away by your actions… and yet he felt ashamed of how he’d treated you, despite the fact that you deserved it. Knowing how he felt about you was likely the cause of his guilt. He was willing to forgive so much more now. He’d do anything to go back to last night, to change how he’d behaved, to confess to you what he’d intended to. Everything else he was feeling – the guilt, the shame, the rage – it all came second to how he felt about you, and once again he’d wasted the opportunity to tell you.

Well, no more.

“Don’t go,” he pleaded softly, trying to sit up. He winced as dehydration got the better of him and sent his head reeling. “Don’t… I still have… so much more I need to say.”

You were stood by the open door, hand lingering on the frame as you listened to him speak. Your head was low and apologetic. He’d forgiven you, that much was clear. It made you sick to your stomach; you didn’t deserve to be forgiven for what you did to him – and yet here he lay, begging you not to leave him.

“I…” Loki looked like he was on the edge of tears. “I _have_ to go, Loki. We need food, and I need fresh air.”  
“I understand.” Yet another knife in your gut. You shut your eyes tightly.

“But if you’re willing to talk, I’ll be as fast as I can…”

* * *

True to your word, you rushed around the forest like a busy honey-bee, flitting between plants so you could return to the tower as soon as you were able. The sun was at its highest when you finally stopped foraging. However, this was through no action of your own…

A twig snapped, and your body froze. In a single second, you had dropped your basket and pulled Duchess from your shoulder, whirling around with your finger on the trigger.

Nothing.

Nobody to be seen except the shadows of the woods and the trees that populated it. Perhaps it had simply been a forest creature passing through, or a-

Snap!

You spun around again. This wasn’t just a forest creature; it couldn’t be. Narrowing your eyes, you caught sight of somebody’s silhouette just ahead of you. They strolled casually towards you, not at all fazed by the sight of Duchess. You raised her a little higher and took a deep breath, as Brynjolf had taught you.

Your trigger finger tensed a little – but before you could fire, someone spoke.   
“Hey there missy,” called the man before you. His was coarse and unrefined, like a saw against a log. “Remember us?”

When he stepped into the light, you examined the man’s face and it brought back no memories. Whoever he thought you were, there was clearly some mistake.   
“Look at her face, pal,” said the brute’s companion, who steppe out from behind his friend and nudged him with his elbow. “It’s been too long. She ain’t gonna know us now – it’s been months!”

You shook your head with disbelief and prepared once again to fire – until it sunk in what had just been said. The three bandits that had created the knockout bombs were dead. Killed by Brynjolf. The thieves from your mother’s funeral had acted alone, as far as you were aware. The only other time you’d encountered similar characters was…

Surely not, you thought. Your heartbeat picked up substantially. Even after all this time?

The first man leered menacingly, like a snake ready to coil itself around you.   
“There’s the penny drop,” he purred. “And I promise you, little missy, you won’t get away from us this time.”

Without hesitation, you let an arrow loose. It flew right into the first kidnapper’s shoulder – not necessarily where you’d been aiming, but effective nonetheless. You immediately turned to run, only to hit the chest of the third brute. How had you forgotten about him?

A felt bag was promptly pulled over your head. Two hands grabbed it from behind and tightened the seam around your throat. Air was denied to your lungs, and you dropped Duchess to claw at the material, whimpering and coughing simultaneously.

Your legs were the first things to fail and a sturdy pair of hands grasped at your waist to keep you upright. Your pulse skyrocketed further as panic filled your veins like fire. Already-shallow breaths were thinned further by the lack of air. With frantic hands, you continued to claw and scratch and grasp at your neck, all in vain. Your attackers had left you powerless.

Slowly, your consciousness began to slip away and your body fell limp into the arms of whoever had choked you. The world began to bleed away, drop by drop. Your hearing gradually became nothing more than a hum. You felt yourself be lowered to the leafy floor.  
“What do you say, boys?” one of the men growled. “Shall we have a little fun with her this time?”

“You know what the boss said,” came a response. “We touch her, and we don’t get paid.”  
“He’s got to figure out we’ve touched her first. Besides, the bitch bruised my skull last time. I ought to have a little… compensation,” the first man laughed roguishly.  
“And she shot me!”  
“The answer’s no. Come on, grab her stuff. He said it won’t look right if we don’t get it.”

* * *

Loki had easily drifted to sleep among the bedsheets. They smelled just like you, and after the initial guilt had worn off, the scent let him drift off without worry. He only awoke when a chilly evening wind touched his cheek. His eyes drew back like a veil and he murmured your name thoughtlessly as he sat up.

Calling for you all the while, Loki searched the tower in earnest. Night had fallen at some point and there was no sign of you – not at the bottom of the tower, nor in any of the rooms above. You should have returned by now, he knew it.

His mind began to jump to conclusions like it was stepping stones across a pond. Were you afraid of him? Had you thought him so mad that you couldn’t bare to face him again? Surely not. He’d made it clear that he held no grudges before you left.

Perhaps it was you who was mad instead. Was your absence fuelled by spite, hoping that Loki would miss you enough to simply forget your mistakes? No, that made no sense either. In fact, he perished the thought; his heart would not be able to bear the guilt of knowing he’d driven you away. He’d sooner throw himself from the top of the tower.

No, he decided. Something was wrong. Something had happened to you. This time, however, he wasn’t about to wait. He didn’t have the time or the stomach for it. Fate had graciously granted him a second chance to tell you how he felt, something he was not about to waste.

Loki stopped pacing and stared at the main door. If you’d just walk through it… If you walked through that door, he’d tell you everything, forgive you for everything. If you’d just come back to him; if you’d only come home…

When his patience ran out, Loki drew a shaky breath. This time, he resolved, this time _he_ would be the one to save you. Not another Brynjolf, or another Fenrien. Him. Though he wasn’t yet sure how, he was going to do it. He refused to be caged when you needed him.

Loki resumed pacing the floor, now glaring fiercely at the window you’d closed. The frosted glass taunted and mocked him. His stomach hardened the longer he walked, the longer he stared.   
“Come on,” Loki whispered to himself. “Just this once, come _on_. Show a little sympathy.” Mounting the window seat, Loki wrapped his fingers around the snake-like handle and pushed.

The window swung open, and Loki almost fell out of it with shock.

After recovering from his surprise and pulling himself back inside, Loki began to laugh. It started as a nervous titter, and evolved into a fully-fledged chortle. He could open the window. _He could open a window._

Cheering and whooping, Loki leapt from the seat and threw himself through the main door, leaving it wide open as he flew down the staircase. A gentle wind flew into the room from the newly-opened window. It whistled gently as it made its rounds, toying with the candle flames and brushing past the ashes of the fire pit. The main room seemed strangely barren with not a single soul inside of it – that was until the bedroom door opened and Loki was thrown back inside.

“No!” He screamed, jumping to his feet once more and beginning to punch and kick the nearby wall. He only stopped when crimson stained the blue bricks. Loki hissed sharply when the pain set in, pulling his fist away and clutching it tightly. “Curse you,” he bellowed at the ceiling.

He could open the window… but he still couldn’t leave. It was progress, but not enough. What was he expected to do now? How was he to save you? He couldn’t sit here idly having seen that he had a chance, albeit a slim one.

Pressing a palm to his temple, Loki scavenged his reckless mind for anything that he could work with. As hard as he tried, however, he just couldn’t focus. All he could picture was your face: terrified and afraid in some unknown danger.

He just wanted you safe. Safe, with him. Like when you’d danced together to the songs of your childhood. Like when he’d read to you whilst you slept in his bed. Like when you’d shared a picnic on the floor of this very room. Like when you’d first arrived and…

When you’d first arrived.

Loki’s eyes snapped open. He clicked his fingers. He looked at the writing desk: wood. The bookshelf: wood. Even the sheets on your bed.

Knowing finally what to do, Loki began to run. He opened all of the windows and doors that he could (feeling an indescribable thrill each time he did so), and gathered as many resources as he could carry. His magic summoned the firepit within the main room once more, into which he tossed his newfound tinder.

From all the books he owned – La Belle Au Bois Dormant tumbling gracelessly into the ashes – to the shelves that they sat on, broken into large planks. He tossed blankets and cushions and clothes onto the pile too, eventually straining his back as he hauled the writing desk to the edge of the pit. Finally, he tore the doors off the antiquity cupboard and threw those in as well.

By the time he was done, the fire pit was no longer visible under the giant pyramid of kindling he’d created. The whole structure was stuffed with torn-up bedsheets, which he knew would ignite easier and spread the blaze evenly. In his hands was the last piece: the painted portrait of his family and he. Gazing into his brother’s eyes, Loki ignited his magic and watched as the oils set alight.

He tossed the painting into the centre of the pile and listened intently as it began to crackle. Stepping back gradually, Loki eventually was forced from the room with his back against the railings at the top of the stairs. Smoke billowed out of the newly-opened windows en masse.  
“Please work,” he whispered aloud. “Please see it.”


	33. Chapter 33

Your consciousness returned the same way it had left you – in drips. Thick, stodgy drips that made the world sound bleak, and look like it was a kaleidoscope of ambers, reds, and browns. After what must have been 20 minutes or so, you realised that the steady din in the back of your head was not the result of your choking, but in fact a voice.

“…been unconscious for over a day. I don’t like it. Perhaps we should wake her-”  
“You shall do no such thing, boy. You know the plan – until her father returns, we are to keep her here.”  
“I don’t like this plan! I never agreed to taking it this far.”  
“Nonetheless, what’s done is done. You wait until he returns.”

A pair of heavy footsteps carried the latter man from the room, a door closing loudly behind him. The slam made your head pound.

Whoever was left behind placed himself on the edge of the bed and began to rub circles into your back.  
“I’m so, so sorry,” he murmured quietly. You knew that voice…

“Jarle?” You slurred, lifting your face away from the small puddle of spit that had seeped into the pillow beneath your head. “Jarle, is that you?” The room around you was draped in orange light, courtesy of a large candle in the corner of the room. Outside the walls of the room, the world was a tapestry of ebony and blue, the night-time sky sending shadows through the windows. You were lying in a familiar bed in an ever more familiar bedroom – your own.

Despite your muscles feeling like lead, you managed to roll over onto your back where your eyes met Jarle’s, copper-filled and hopeful.  
“Yes, it’s me, I’m here.”

“What happened?” You asked. When you tried to sit up, Jarle placed his hands behind your shoulders, propping you up against a few pillows afterwards. Given the circumstances, you were glad to see him. He seemed happy enough too.

“I rescued you from bandits in the woods,” he explained, but his eyes moved around the room like a guilty puppy. “They were going to do such awful things to you, (y/n), but I rescued you. I brought you back here where you’re safe and don’t have to go back into that dangerous forest.”

You frowned, looking pointedly at your friend. He refused to make further eye-contact, instead staring furiously at the plaid bedding you were tucked into.  
“That… is a coincidence,” you spoke slowly, willing to give the story a chance. He smiled at you coldly.  
“Isn’t it? But you see, all your belongings are here,” he pointed to Duchess and the basket of food that sat near the door, “which I wouldn’t have been able to get were I not telling the truth.”

Even if Jarle had been a better liar, it still didn’t add up. You strained your mind to remember what you’d overheard before passing out. _Come on, grab her stuff. He said it won’t look right if we don’t get it._

It was a ploy. You just knew it. Jarle was lying blatantly, and you suspected that there was something more sinister at work here; Elphina’s distant warning of corruption began to resurface in your head…

“How did you even find me? I was hardly close to this area of the woods. It’s unlikely you just stumbled upon me on an evening stroll.” Jarle didn’t have an immediate answer. Your heart rate began to quicken. There was absolutely something going on, but what? What could possibly have him so tongue-tied? When you tried to kick your legs over the edge of the bed, Jarle grabbed your wrist.  
“You can’t go!”

The sight of the fear-stricken face you responded with pierced Jarle’s heart suddenly. He knew this was wrong; he’d known this was wrong from the start.  
“What is going on?” You beseeched him. “I need you to tell me, Jarle.”  
“I… can’t. I promised I’d play along.”  
“Play along with what? What charade is this?”

Jarle chewed his lip ferociously, wrestling with his conscience and his obligations. Ultimately, it was his desire to protect you that won out (helped along by the concern that was evident in your widening eyes).  
“The bandits were… The bandits were _supposed_ to find you, and I was supposed to find them. Their only task was to deliver you to me so that I could pretend to have saved you myself.”

It wasn’t wholly unsurprising but it left a bitter taste in your mouth nonetheless. You ripped yourself free of his grasp, standing up to take a deep breath.  
“So, the first time I encountered them…”  
“Then too, yes – but my concern when you went missing, that was still me, (y/n); you must believe me. I never wanted any of this.”

“Well, what did you expect, Jarle?” You yelled, retreating backwards to put some distance between you both.  
“It wasn’t me,” he continued defensively. “It was your father!”

You blinked hard, and steadied yourself on the nearby dresser.  
“What?”

“He organised the marriage. He insisted that I pursue your hand.” You turned to face the dresser and placed both of your hands on its edge, tucking your head in to dispel the wooziness. “He even offered to support the endeavour by… orchestrating the abduction.”

Jarle’s fists were balled up in his lap as a sick feeling aggravated his stomach. He knew he’d done the right thing – you needed to know, after all – but he couldn’t help but feel as though he’d shot himself in the foot. Your father’s temperament was well known to him. The last thing he wanted was to incur it. However, Jarle feared _your_ reaction more at the current moment.

“Where is my father?” You growled fiercely. He gulped. “Where is Teifren?”  
“I’m… not supposed to tell you that, either.”

When you shot him a fiery glare, Jarle flinched.  
“He- He’s gone to this tower of yours. He intends to… to ‘deal with’ the companion you’ve made.”

Loki.

Loki was in danger. Your heart began to hammer even harder. _Loki was in danger._ Whatever your father had in store for him, it couldn’t be good. He wouldn’t have gone to this much trouble if it was. No time to lose then.  
“I have to get to him,” you declared, hurrying to your wardrobe and throwing open the doors. Your current garb was that which you’d been kidnapped in. Hardly appropriate for the escapade you were planning upon. Covered by the doors, you pulled the dress over your head and discarded it, selecting something a little more practical.

The outfit had been your mother’s, from a time of her life she’d refused to speak about once upon a time. A tight-fitting pair of trousers would let you run fast and far. A black undershirt with loose shoulders and sleeves complimented the contrasting tan leather waistcoat which you fastened over the top of it. You also attached a pair of rawhide gauntlets to your wrists to secure the open sleeves. One pair of knee-high boots later and you were ready to go.

Jarle blinked hard at the sight of you, suited, booted, and ready for action. The mention of your companion had ignited something in you that he’d not seen before. Bravery. Determination. In all his years of knowing you, this courage was not something he’d encountered before. Had you learnt it purely through your newfound acquaintance? The man must be important to you.

Shaking his head promptly, Jarle forced himself to focus on the situation.  
“Wait, wait, you won’t be able to just leave,” he hurried to clarify. “It’s more than just me and your father who are… _were_ in on this. When he left, he insisted that you not be allowed to stop him and posted his people at every entrance.”

You froze in your tracks. People posted at every doorway. A large conspiracy in your own family. Your father intending to kill the man you held dearest in the world. This… was impossible. With a dejected whimper, you resigned yourself to sit upon edge of the mattress, covering your face with your hands to hide the tears that were brewing.

Jarle felt sympathy in bounds. You looked so desperate, so forlorn – and he was responsible. Where had that confidence gone? Moving around the edge of the bed, Jarle sat beside you and placed his arm around your shoulders, hoping to offer support. You let him.

“Did you _ever_ want to marry me, Jarle? Truly, honestly?” You asked eventually, sniffling and rubbing the underside of your nose. After taking a minute to process the question, Jarle turned to face you.  
“I… In all honesty, no. Not ever. Not once. I was relieved when you turned me down actually. In fact, all I’ve ever wanted is to avoid lasting damage to our friendship – because I am fond of you, (y/n), I am. Please don’t ever doubt that. I know I should’ve said something sooner, I know this, but I…” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’d had my doubts about this scheme since your father brought it up, but I lacked the courage to do anything about it. I still do.”

You took Jarle’s hands into your own and clutched them tightly.  
“Then defy him,” you begged. “Defy him, and help me escape.”

* * *

 

You elected to abandon your basket of goods in favour of speed. Jarle led you by the hand through the front room. You could feel him shaking.    
“The apprentice woodcutter will be guarding the front door,” he whispered, before letting go of your hand to place a finger to his lips.

Sucking in a breath, he reminded himself to have courage – as you had – and twisted the handle of your front door. You readied Duchess, finger on the trigger and ready to fire.

Neither of you could have anticipated what came next.

The village was in flames. A formerly darkened sky had turned a bloody shade of orange on account of the fires that danced upon numerous rooftops. The villagers not running for cover had armed themselves to the teeth. Each warrior was engaged in a battle of some kind, their opponents a troop of unfamiliar faces, clad in armour and wielding a plethora of weapons. The sound of metal clanging against metal filled the evening air, alongside shouts, roars, and screams. Who were these people?

Somebody called out to Jarle from a few feet away. You knew him: the village doctor. A stout man in a pelt helmet had pinned him to the ground, though the healer wasn’t going down easy. You made to step forward, raising Duchess to help, but Jarle barred your path with his arm. When you looked up at him, confused, he shook his head solemnly and turned away. Oh… The healer had been a part of it too. Of course. Just how far did this dishonesty spread?  
“We’re being attacked,” the healer yelled at your companion. “Lock up the girl and get out here to fight, you fool!”

Though you weren’t sure who his opponent was, you found yourself rooting for him as a hammer was dropped onto the healer’s skull. It still made no sense. Who would attack the village? Least of all this suddenly and brutally. To your knowledge, the town had no known enemies.

Both you and Jarle surveyed the scene that lay before you, stunned into silence. Fear had stilled your feet too.  
“We… could use this to our advantage,” Jarle eventually admitted. “The commotion might let us slip away without detection.”  
“I agree,” you nodded, “but how do we get through without being bludgeoned to death ourselves?”

Jarle didn’t get a chance to answer. A piercing cry cut him off.  
“ _Yahoooooooo_!”

All questions were suddenly answered. Brynjolf was about 20 feet away from you, swinging a large axe wildly and causing damage left, right, and centre as he did so. When his murderous circle was complete, he threw his head back and laughed raucously for a second time. Bodies littered the floor around him. When he noticed that one such corpse refused to stay down, he lifted his weapon high above his head. You turned away as the axe’s blade sunk into the village accountant’s back with a crunch.

Brynjolf cleaned his hands on his trousers as he looked up and around, searching for more targets. When his eyes caught sight of you, he beamed wildly and wide.  
“I’ve got her!” he announced, pulling his axe from the corpse on the ground and bounding over to you faster than you’d ever seen him run. Jarle leapt suddenly between the two of you and raised his fists.  
“You’ll have to go through me.”

Brynjolf did exactly that. A curled fist plunged into your friend’s stomach without hesitation, and as he hit the ground with a grunt, you found yourself in a powerful embrace. You grabbed a fistful of Brynjolf’s unkempt hair and held him as close as humanly possible, never having been so happy to see anyone in your life. You were rescued! The feeling was indescribable. Brynholf’s hugs felt like home. You couldn’t help but begin to weep.

“You alright, lady?” He asked when you were finally permitted to step back. He reached up and patted your cheek fondly before examining you for injuries.  
“Much better now. But what are you even doing here?”

“We’re here to rescue you,” another familiar voice explained, as Fenrien appeared out of nowhere. He was wielding a pair of jade daggers that he twirled between his fingers elegantly. They turned twice before being sheathed in the pockets on his thighs. The material of each scabbard matched the black leather of his new attire. No doubt he’d acquired both his weapons and wardrobe from Brynjolf’s caravan. “Though we admittedly could have been a little more tactful.”  
“Speak for yourself, pal,” Brynjolf chuckled, folding his arms. “I’ll take this over tact any day. I’m havin’ a ball!”

You threw yourself at Fenrien, wrapping your arms around his neck. He returned your enthusiasm, lifting you off the ground and spinning you around twice. Brynjolf smiled warmly. His heart was overflowing with elation to see that you were unharmed.

“Do you know something, Brynjolf?” Fenrien commented once your feet were on the ground again. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I think she is happy to see us!”  
“You have no idea. Though I still don’t understand – how did you know I needed help?”

The pair shared a look of amusement and innuendo. Silently, they debated who would have the pleasure of enlightening you. It was Brynjolf who emerged victorious.  
“How do ye’ reckon, eh? The damned fool nearly burned himself alive hoping to get our attention. Sure enough, we was makin’ camp a couple of hours away when we saw the smoke and came running. Apparently, Sour Stones knew something were amiss when ye’ hadn’t come home and needed us to do somethin’ about it. Even had his permission to burn this place to the ground if that’s what it took – and I know you disagree with me, blondie, but I still say it was necessary.”

“Loki did this?” You asked, feeling your stomach begin to twist giddily. “Loki sent you to rescue me?” Fenrien noticed the lilt in your voice and nudged Brynjolf knowingly, waggling his eyebrows.

They only had a moment to act like schoolchildren, however, as Jarle groaned and stood up. Both men readied their weapons – until you leapt in the way.  
“He’s with me, he’s with me!” You insisted, holding your hands out to in front of their blades. Reluctantly, and after sharing an uncertain glance, their guards were lowered once more. Jarle breathed a sigh of relief.  
“You know these people?” He asked.

“I do. We can do introductions later, though. Right now, Loki is in danger and I’d really like to do something about that if it’s alright with the three of you.”


	34. Chapter 34

The four of you began to traverse the warring village, each step squelching and sinking sickeningly into the blood-soaked soil. Jarle pulled a sword and shield from a nearby corpse before moving any further. He hoped that he wouldn’t have to use it, but the odds were not in his favour. Brynjolf’s mining company were putting up a grand offence but ultimately, they were outnumbered. Time was short. It wouldn’t be long before they called a retreat or ran out of fighters; whichever came first...

With every bolt that sprung from Duchess’ mouth, you felt the war inside yourself worsening too. Yes, these people had betrayed you; yes, they were corrupt; but there were also innocent children caught up in the conflict. Souls not yet tainted by the bureaucracy being exposed to violence and chaos and death, all because of you.

Jarle noticed the conflict on your face after you were forced to defend yourself from the baker you’d once babysat for. He’d come at you brandishing a hot poker. You’d had no choice. And yet you now stared at his body, crimson seeping into his apron from the puncture in his stomach.

You looked up with wet eyes when Jarle took your hand. He shook his head softly.  
“You’re not alone. I feel it too, but you must know there is no other way.”  
“I wish there was,” you whispered.  
“As do I, but they forced our hand. You can mourn them all once we’ve saved your friend.”

You nodded slowly, and swallowed with difficulty.  
“Was… Was it everyone?” You asked trepidly. Jarle hesitated to respond. You’d been fighting with everyone; if there was even a chance that one of them was innocent in your feud, the guilt would likely swallow you whole.  
“I… don’t know what you want me to say.”  
“Was every single person in this village in on my father’s schemes?”

Jarle thought very carefully about his next words.  
“No. My mother, for example. We both know what she’s like. She wouldn’t stand for something like this without good cause.”  
“Oh, god, Jarle, where’s your mother? I haven’t seen her. What if she’s–”  
“I’ve seen her,” he assured you. “She didn’t see me, but she was a little preoccupied. She was herding children towards the library. We both know it’ll take a lot to kill that woman, don’t you worry.”

You dropped to your knees with a wounded cry, covering your face with your hands. The children. Yet again you were reminded how many innocents were in peril because of what you’d incited.  
“This is not your fault,” Jarle whispered, kneeling beside you and watching over his shoulder for attacks. Fenrien stood nearby, on his guard. “You know that, and I know that. With time, everyone else shall know it too, but we have to survive this long enough to tell them, alright? But sitting here? Weeping? That won’t help our chances. We’ve got to keep going. If there’s one thing you’re good at, it’s perseverance. Second to none! I need you to do that for me, okay? I need you to keep going.” Jarle perceived the wariness in your eyes and rethought his advice. “Or… Or if not for me, then for this Loki. He still needs you, remember?”

With an appreciative smile, you nodded. Jarle helped you to your feet, and gazed pointedly into your eyes. He gripped your shoulder fiercely and you nodded again, a promise. You could be strong. After everything you’d endured, you had to be. You raised your chin and prepared to steel yourself for the rest of the fight. It would undoubtedly be a long one.

 

Even as you neared the forest, the air remained rife with the stench of war. The scent of blood, death, and smoke all filled your nostrils. It would’ve sent your stomach reeling had you not been under the intoxicating influence of fear and adrenaline.

Fenrien disappeared shortly before you all arrived at the village’s border, leaving you open to flanking. Luckily, the opportunity was never seized. He returned shortly afterwards with two worryingly laid-back horses. One was black with white speckles up its back legs and rear while the other was a gorgeous chestnut. Fenrien mounted the former animal swiftly before pulling you up onto the saddle behind him. Brynjolf and Jarle made no move to follow. The riderless horse chewed absent-mindedly on the greying grass by its feet.  
“What are you doing?” You yelled at your friends. “We’ve got to go.”  
“ _You’ve_ got to go,” Jarle replied, looking over his shoulder to check that you had the time to talk. For the moment, you were thankfully safe.

Brynjolf nodded solemnly. “The boy’s right. Someone’s got to make sure they won’t be following ye’.” Fenrien nudged the horse with his heels but you reached around him and heaved on the reins. Speckles snorted indignantly.  
“No, I won’t leave you. There’s too many of them! You can’t do this alone.”

With a sad smile, Brynjolf approached the side of the horse and took your hand.  
“I didn’t say we had to survive this thing. We just gotta hold the bastards off long enough for ye’ to get to Loki without being followed. He’s the one who needs savin’, lady.”

Jarle agreed.  
“I’ve got a bone to pick with these people,” he explained. “I can’t expect you to forgive me for what I did, but maybe by sinking my sword into the few people I know were responsible, I can one day forgive myself.”

Unwilling to let you protest any further, Brynjolf smacked the horse’s flank. The animal was set quickly in motion. You cried out for it to stop but Fenrien kept close hold of the reins this time. He reminded himself that time was of the essence as he wiped away a solitary tear. Your steed galloped into the woods but you looked over your shoulder before the burning village could disappear from sight completely. Brynjolf released a mighty cry and leapt back into the fray. Jarle bashed someone with his shield before lunging with his blade.

You didn’t want to picture how many foes they’d face before falling.

“They’re resilient men,” Fenrien assured you, shouting slightly to be heard over the sound of thundering hooves. “Do not worry yourself over their fates.”  
“The sooner we get to Loki, the sooner I can end all of this.”  
“A noble attitude.”

Fenrien kicked his heels and the horse hastened forward. The two of you rode with speed for quite some time; between the sounds of horseshoe on soil, the horse released loud bursts of hot breath, not having been worked so strenuously in a long time. _Huff. Huff. Huff._ The sound of the horse's chuffing was rhythmic and steady. You focused on it with closed eyes, letting it calm you – until a new sound reached your ears.

You primed Duchess and took aim behind you.  
“How many horses were in the stable with this one?” You called to Fenrien as you released a first bolt.  
“They were alone.”  
“That’s what I was afraid of. Seems the rest were in use.”

Fenrien followed your gaze and frowned. Sure enough, some of the villagers had pursued you on horseback; a cacophony of beating hooves boomed throughout the woods. Not all of them were unarmed either, Fenrien discovered, as an arrow pierced his shoulder and threw him from the saddle.

Jumping into action, you grabbed the reins and pulled the horse to a sudden halt. You cried his name as the horse turned, not about to leave another man behind. Fenrien stumbled to his feet and winced as he snapped the tail of the arrow off.

“Go, go! I can handle this. Keep going!” He yelled, waving frantically before the riders could arrive.  
“I-”  
“No time! Loki needs you, little one; go to him - now!”

With tears in your eyes, you reluctantly urged Speckles to continue. Fenrien grunted at the pain in his shoulder. Aside from feeling a little faint, he knew that he was still capable of fighting. He pulled his daggers from their holsters and bared them as the riders came into view.

* * *

 

The horse burst out of the trees and into the clearing. You pulled harshly on the reins and the horse reared up as it came to a halt. You were thrown to the floor by the buck, and coughed harshly as the wind was knocked right out of you.

Whilst on your back, you could see the tower in its entirety, confirming everything that Brynjolf and Fenrien had described. Thin trails of smoke jutted out from each window of the structure, blanketing the night sky under a veil of grey. Despite the smouldering curtain, two familiar stars were still visible behind it, twinkling brightly as they implored you to move...

Sluggishly, you rolled onto your stomach and dug your fingers into the dirt. You pulled yourself forward bit by bit, until you gained enough strength to crawl. You reached the bottom of the tower and used the wall to heave yourself to your feet. Several blocks of ice lay scattered in the grass, others displaced and discarded upon the floor inside. Either Fenrien and Brynjolf hadn’t cleaned up after themselves or… your father was truly here.

The thought of him being in this place, tainting it, made your blood boil. With your speed and strength replenished by rage, you launched yourself up the stairs into the cloud of smoke that awaited you, calling to Loki as you ran; your voice broke as you cried that everything was alright, that you were here now, you were safe!

You heard him call back, warning you to stay away.

Your legs wobbled precariously as you climbed the topmost steps of the staircase. Coughing and spluttering, you clutched the railing to balance yourself. Tears prickled your vision on account of the smoke.  
“Loki,” you called out as you threw yourself at the door frame and leaned into the room. “Loki, where are you? It’s me, I’m here!”

Although it was escaping through the windows, the smoke was still heavy enough to steal away your breath.  You turned right, then left, then right again, searching the room for any sign of him, missing the dark silhouette that appeared in the fog beside you…

Two large hands gripped you forearms and shoved you out onto the stairway again. With a shriek, you wriggled, trying to free yourself and fight back. Loki growled your name.  
“It’s me,” he hissed, trying once again to force you down the stairs. “Stupid woman, you cannot be here. You must leave.”

“What?” You snapped, wrenching your arm out of his hands and turning to face him. Though it wasn’t clear against the smoke, his expression appeared nervous. He looked over his shoulder, not once, but twice. “No, I’m not leaving you too. I didn’t come this far just to-”

Loki clenched his fists and implored you angrily.  
“You _asinine_ woman. All you do is bring trouble this place – and once again I am left to clean up. Why can you not do what you’re told?” Raising your chin defiantly, you grabbed his collar and yanked his face down.  
“Because if I did as I was told, I’d never have made it this far.”

Every ounce of dread melted away from him in that moment. Eyeing the determination in your pouting mouth, Loki couldn’t help but smirk, and hum.  
“I know,” he murmured, placing his hands either side of your face. “I know, and I’m… I’m glad I got to see you one last time.”

You placed your hands over his, clutching fiercely as you pulled them away from your cheeks. “Always so melancholy. What do you mean one last time?”  
“You’re not safe here,” he explained, worry hushing his voice. “He means to take you – to keep you this time. You must leave before he steals you away; find Brynjolf, or Fenrien, and get away from here. Far, far away!”

Before you could tell Loki how foolish he was acting, the pair of you heard a strange whooshing sound; he seized you just in time, pulling you to his chest as something whistled past your ear.

You stared incredulously at the woodcutter’s axe, the rough metal had sunk into the icy railings, and remained. Stuck. Your heart threatened to spill from your open mouth.  
“Stay behind me,” Loki snarled when he noticed your father’s silhouette in the smoke-filled doorway. He turned and spread his arms.

“No,” you snarled back, feeling a fire ingnite in your belly. You pulled Duchess from your shoulder and took aim at the silhouette, coughing gently as you moved around him. “ _You_ get behind _me_.”

The bolt released sharply, but pierced the shadow in vain. It did nothing more than cause the fog to circle and swirl. You shared a look of timidity with Loki. What now?

There was no doubt in your mind what had to happen; you had to confront your father. Whatever schemes he had in place, they would be thwarted here. However, Loki seemed less than eager to let you face him. When you raised your crossbow again, making to begin the hunt, his hands tugged lightly on your arms. He wanted you to leave, to save your own life. However, you just wouldn’t go. He could see on your face that there was no stopping you now. There was no doubt in your mind that Loki would die at your father’s hand if you left him.

Together, the two of you proceeded into the room, stepping cautiously. Loki’s hands found their way to your hips, letting you lead him as the pair of you surveyed the surroundings.

“I don’t suppose,” you coughed hoarsely into the bend of your arm, “you can do anything about this smoke?” Loki frowned. When your father had arrived in the tower, the smoke had been his only ally; a means of evading his attacker by concealing him from sight. To say he was reluctant to remove it was an understatement…

Ignoring his reservations, Loki trusted you and raised his hands to the sky. The smoke slowly began to thin, spilling from the windows faster and faster, revealing the room to you simultaneously. Still there was no sign of the attacker.  
“Teifren,” you called. “Teifren, show yourself!” Rage had replaced the blood in your veins. He’d given up any right to call you his daughter, and so you would not call him your father. He had a lot of explaining to do.

Teifren did not show himself. Your eyes were left to scan the Tower’s main room; here where you’d once danced to a childhood memory, where you’d had picnics and painted, where Loki had slept. Empty, and in disarray, the only thing to fill the place you’d once called home was a tall mound of charred wood. Glowing embers lay at the base, giving off a soft amber glow, but otherwise the heap was monochromatic – burnt black and dusted with ivory ash. The writing desk was nowhere in sight, likely amongst the kindling, you realised. Even the cushions from the window seat were gone. To what extent had Loki gone just to try and find you? Your stomach twisted at the sight – both touched and dismayed.

The smoke continued to clear until a figure was finally visible in the doorway to the bedroom. Your father’s frame took up the whole entryway. You whirled around to face him, taking aim with your crossbow but not able to pull the trigger. Not now you could see him…  
“Do it,” Loki hissed in your ear, beginning to panic at your pause. “Why are you hesitating? Shoot him!”

With shaking hands, you surrendered Duchess to hang at your side, glancing at Loki with knitted brows and a marginally open mouth. How could he…? Yes, you were furious, but you couldn’t kill your father!

Teifren smiled as he watched you lower your weapon. He tightened the grip on his own, having reclaimed his woodcutter’s axe whilst you were searching the premises.  
“Come, daughter-mine,” he said sternly. “We are to leave this place.”  
_He means to take you – to keep you this time._

“No,” you said firmly, shouldering Duchess but keeping your fists balled by your hips. Your father frowned.  
“You have no say in this. The village is your home; you have family there and responsibilities-”  
“The village is gone!” You yelled, turning to him with wildfire in your eyes. “It’s burning as we speak, and half the people in it are dead.”

Teifren hesitated. Could it be…? Were you telling the truth? When he realised you had no reason to lie, he grew quickly irate, leaping forward and snatching up your wrist.  
“What did you _do_?” He snarled, lifting your arm up so high as to raise you onto your toes. You whimpered and Loki’s fists curled, his back arching as he felt a growl rising through his throat.  
“Let her go.”

With a furious roar, your father tossed you aside. Loki lurched forward, catching you in his arms before you could hit the ground. He landed upon his knees excruciatingly hard, but ignored the pain to glare fiercely at your father. The man was rubbing his chin and pacing the floor.  
“Stupid child, what have you done…?”

“Jarle told me,” you said with a grunt as Loki helped you up. Once you were kneeling comfortably, he slid an arm around your shoulders, never taking his eyes off the man in front of you. “Jarle told me what you intended for me; he told me about the group you’re a part of, and the bandits you sent. I know everything.”

Your father stopped in his stride. He slowly turned his head, looking at you over his shoulder with a foul grin. You felt Loki’s embrace around you tightening.  
“You think you know everything?”  
“Nothing you could say would surprise me now, father” you replied, lifting your chin a little higher.

He chortled.  
“I am not your father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart by [@auria223](https://auria223.tumblr.com/post/169281986151/fan-art-for-littlemisssyreids-the-tower-its):  
> 


	35. Chapter 35

“I am not your father.”

Loki felt you stiffen. His own eyes widened a little at the confession.

“Yes, ‘daughter-mine’,” the villain continued. “Think it through; you know that what I say is true.” You stammered and spluttered, searching for words you didn’t possess, and feeling your breath growing short. Your eyes darted left and right. Panic crept into your spine as you began to shake. Loki tried to hold you tighter but you wanted to get away from him. You needed space. You needed air. “You see, I simply married your mother because it suited me at the time.”  
“Liar!” You screamed, lunging forward. Loki grabbed you hurriedly and pulled you to his chest. He could feel you quaking with rage and upset. He’d seen this reaction before. He knew it all too well…

“If it’s any consolation, she was a good woman. She endured a lot over the years. It was truly a shame I had to kill her.”

You promptly stopped shaking altogether. Your jaw clenched. Even Loki’s pulse began to increase. This was new – even for him.  
“You… what?”

The man who was not your father sighed loudly. Teifren shifted weight onto his back foot and folded his arms.   
“There was a plan, see, for the prosperity of the village. The whole place is governed by a large committee, of which I am an integral member. Everything about the village’s future is decided by the Committee. Nobody enters or leaves the village without our authority. Most people understand and adhere to this manner of regulation. For those less inclined to obey, regular pay keeps them compliant. Better pay makes a few others subservient. For those unaffected by either method, it requires a little of something… else. Your real father, for example, was going to move your family away to perform research for the books he wished to write; the Committee weren’t too keen on that idea – other cities profiting from something and someone that was rightfully ours – so we burnt his home and his research to the ground whilst he alone slept within. It was then decided that I would take his place by Lorna’s side, and, in her grief, she was easily coerced with the promise of a good life for her remaining kin.

“A few years down the line and you became far too much like your old man. Rebellious. Interested in the outside world. Of no discernible _use_. The Committee began to talk around your eleventh birthday. We decided that the safest bet would be to marry you off to someone who would keep you in check, someone who would be under our influence. Jarle’s mother – I believe you know Elphina –  was threatened and… well, she was blackmailed by the committee, insisting that she submit him for schooling in construction and engineering lest he be taken from her. He was raised to one day join the Committee; the perfect citizen. Over the course of his life, he has been unknowingly moulded with our ideals, and afforded many luxuries as a result – including his occupation and his home. He thinks he has power and influence, and as such, when the time comes, he will submit to our governance. Who better to pair you with, to keep you in line?

“After that decision, it was up to me to cultivate you accordingly, ensuring that your fates were intertwined. Those bandits you encountered last year? I indeed hired them. Jarle was supposed to rescue you from them but the fool got lost in the woods, and you ended up here instead. Your mother was outraged when she found out my scheme, and claimed she wouldn’t let it go any further. And so, on the night I’d insisted that Jarle propose, I poisoned her soup, which I believe you fed to her in the end. To think… You could’ve saved her, had you but known.”

With a scream, you broke free of Loki’s hold and launched yourself at the man in front of you. Your body hit his and the two of you collapsed to the floor, his head smacking against the ice. You struck him as hard as you could across the jaw. You raised your other fist and hit him again, this time drawing blood in a cut across his cheekbone.   
“You… killed…. my… mother….” You wept with every punch, vision blurred by water.

Teifren pulled his knees up and thrusted them into your abdomen. You landed with a grunt in the doorway to the bedroom, coughing and crying before beginning to recover. Your attacker rose to his feet clumsily, staggering like a rickety bridge as he wiped the blood from his lip and watched you drag yourself further into the bedroom.

When he took a step towards you, however, axe bared, Loki leapt into action, throwing himself deliberately behind Teifren and locking his arms around the man’s neck. The axe was dropped, and he let out a sickening gargle.  
“I almost owe you thanks,” Loki growled as his victim struggled for breath. “For every wrongdoing you committed, she was pushed further into my arms. To think… You could’ve stopped it, had you but known.”

With a defiant roar, Teifren placed his palms behind Loki’s head, locked his fingers together, and heaved. Muscles built from a lifetime of wood felling pulled Loki up and over in a tremendous arc. He hit the ice painfully, and he let out a wheeze as the wind flew from his breast.

“Loki!”

Your left arm was wrapped tightly around your bruised abdomen, but something helpful hung from your spare hand. Something from the bedroom’s artefact cupboard….

You tossed Loki’s dagger to his outstretched hand. Teifren brought his axe down. A clang echoed amongst the tower as the coarse metal hit the folded blade.

With an exasperated growl, Teifren lifted his axe once more, but was forced to leap aside suddenly when a crossbow bolt zoomed past his head. You swore, having missed, and made to reload. Loki thrust his feet into Teifren’s gut and used the momentum to hop to his feet.

Loki lunged with his blade and made to strike the man’s shoulder. An axe blocked the blow. Loki spun on the ball of his foot, arm outstretched and blade bared to slice for a second time. The axe blocked the blow.

A bolt suddenly sunk into Teifren’s thigh, and he dropped to one knee with a pained yelp. His hand moved instinctively to clutch the bleeding muscle and Loki grinned, relishing the sight of his foe in turmoil. You lowered the crossbow with a sad smile and wiped the run from under your nose. The battle was short, but won, and it had tired you despite its length. Emotional stress rendered you battered and bruised; figuratively of course. As you smiled wearily at Loki, you realised that you were panting. He turned towards you with empathetic eyes, longing to comfort you.

Loki hesitated – and Teifren sunk the axe’s blade into his rib.

The sound of his scream was short lived; all breath escaped his body. The man you’d once called father was grinning ferociously, his eyes wild and sadistic. You shouted Loki’s name and dropped Duchess without delay. You swept in to catch Loki before his cheek could hit the floor; your footsteps sounded dense and dull in his ears. Whispering his name repeatedly, you pulled his body to the nearest wall and sat him up against it. He could feel the soft caress of your hands as they cradled his face, brushing hair aside to keep his eyes on you. He was focused… for now.

“You shot me,” Teifren scowled as he took the opportunity to recover. “Stupid wench, do you think you can stop this? Whoever you left behind in that village will not win. The Committee will be reinstated, and they will not let you stay here.”

You were not listening, holding Loki’s face up and trying to keep his eyes open. The axe protruded from his waist, jutting out like a hideous thorn in his side. Crimson leaked from either side of it, forming a puddle on the floor that seeped into the seams of your trousers. Where you were panicked, however, palming the severed flesh in the hopes of stemming the flow, Loki seemed oddly resolute. A shaking red hand gripped your own. He pressed his lips to your fingers, and winked slyly. You could see what he was saying from the look in his eyes; the Tower would heal him. He’d be fine.

“A decision has been made,” Teifren continued, oblivious to the encounter the two of you were sharing, “and you will _abide_.”  
“What in the nine makes you think that I would come with you?” You cried, whirling your head around.   
“Because if you don’t,” he grunted stubbornly, standing upright despite his injury, “the boy will die.”  
“Loki won’t die! He’s more powerful than you know.”

“Not him. Jarle. _Jarle_ will die,” Teifren retorted bitterly. “You’re the only reason he is still alive. If you don’t marry him, then we have no use for him. Your childhood friend shall perish upon my return.”

“He… He might already be dead,” you stammered. It was a reach. You were trying to feign confidence, to find a leg to stand on, a reason to resist. However, the cogs in your head were already turning at a worrisome pace.   
“And if he is not? Then I will put him through hell unimaginable, on your head be it.”

* * *

 

Loki could see the verdict in your eyes. You were leaving him.   
“You can’t… You can’t go…” He murmured sluggishly, trying to move. You pushed him back to the floor, seeing the way blood leaked from his body. No matter how fast the Tower worked, he was still losing a _lot_ of blood.

You dropped your head and laughed morbidly.   
“I have to go. He will kill Jarle.”  
“If you go with him, he’ll- he’ll kill you too.”

“They won’t kill me. I’m too useful to them now. I can fight, I can navigate, I can… expand their reach. The only way he’ll kill me is by letting me live to death. Married to Jarle, but alive and fulfilling my usefulness. Whatever it takes to control me and what I can do.”

Loki’s pulse was rocketing – and not on account of his wound. He felt helpless; he had no control. Here you were, saying goodbye for the last time, and there was nothing he could do about it. After all he’d gone through to bring you home and he was going to lose you again. He wanted to scream and shout, and fight back. He wanted to fight. He wanted to beg, on his hands and knees. He could do all of those things – he’d happily do whatever it took – but you’d still leave. He knew that. _Because they do leave. They do leave, and eventually, they stop coming back…_

“Say your farewell,” Teifren mumbled, spitting blood onto the floor. As soon as you’d returned to the village, he’d have you heal this wound. Stupid girl. “You shall spend no more time here, lest I return and kill him properly.”

Turning back to Loki, you caught the glimmer in his eyes, the fear. You knew how it looked. You were abandoning him, the one thing you promised never to do. _This is my home now, Loki. I’ll always come back._

“I…” You began to sob softly, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand. “I don’t want to go.” Loki hushed you, placing his quivering hands on your cheeks and brushing away the tears.   
“Don’t cry,” he whispered, pulling your forehead against his own “I never know what to do when you cry.”

Loki felt fire. Fire in his belly as he thought about the situation he’d been forced into; fire in his eyes as he was made to watch you cry; fire in his heart as he watched you weep _for him_. If he were only able to, he would do everything in his power to stop this. He would kill Teifren with his bare hands and free you from the curse of your hometown.

If he could just break the curse…

Loki knew what he had to do – the thing he’d longed to do for so long. The two of you had shared many goodbyes before, leaving things unsaid, and in each instance, neither of you had known if it would be your last goodbye.

The first time you’d left the tower to return to the village.

The speed with which you’d fled after his angriest outburst.

The worry he’d felt when saying goodbye on the morning you’d felt sick, ignorant to the fact that you would return to him unconscious.

The hug you’d given him before leaving to be captured by Thor.

Even the solemn conversation at his bedside before you left him the day prior.

Each goodbye had been final, though neither of you had known it. This time, however, Loki knew. That made it different. It was an opportunity. He knew that this would be the last time you’d see one another; the last time he’d have you close, the last time he would touch you. Fate was looking him in the eyes and telling him candidly that this was it. It was now or never.

 _You won’t get another chance_ , it whispered in his ear. _If you’re to do it, do it now._

Loki stroked your cheekbones with his thumbs. You leaned into his palm, and moved a hand over the top of his, wishing that you didn’t have to disappear.   
“I can’t let you leave,” he murmured, turmoil causing his voice to tremor.   
“And I can’t let you die.”

With his hands either side of your face, Loki pulled you closer, pressing his forehead to yours.   
“Do you remember the night we danced here?” He asked. You smiled bitterly and let a sorrowful laugh escape your lips. You nodded, and whispered that you did. “Well, there’s something I wanted to tell you that night, something that I should’ve done.”

Loki slipped his hand onto the back of your neck and pulled you slowly into a kiss.


	36. Chapter 36

You froze in place for a moment. Your breath stuck in your throat. Loki was kissing you. He’d put his hand on the back of your neck, pulled you closer, and kissed you. Delicately; affectionately; as if he was afraid to hurt you. His touch was cold, but his lips were warm. Your stomach twisted with elation, and your heart burst as it beat faster than a bumblebee’s wings. It felt as though there was sunshine in your chest; everything was bright, and excited. You couldn’t believe it. _Loki was kissing you._ With the mildest of sighs, you leaned into his touch and returned the kiss tenfold.

Loki’s hand slithered upwards and tangled itself in your hair, leaving goose bumps and prickled hair in its wake. A single tear slid down his cheek. Loki was… happy. It was the strangest thing – completely new to him and utterly indescribable. He was happy, truly. His melancholy heart had been melted.

And yet you were distraught. Sorrow pierced your heart for every second the kiss persisted. To you, this was goodbye. It was proof of everything you’d come to feel but at the same time only made it harder to leave. As Loki’s mouth moved against your own, all you could picture was the emptiness left behind when it eventually ended.

Loki, however, knew better.

A tumultuous crack rang through the building like a whip. You jumped out of your skin – wrenching your lips away – and turned to the source of the noise: the ceiling. Teifren’s head also craned upwards. Loki moved fast, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you against the side of him that wasn’t haemorrhaging.  
“Hold-” He spluttered violently in pain, “Hold onto me, alright? For once in your life, just _do as I ask._ ”

You turned to face Loki with fear-stricken eyes. The ceiling was coming apart! Right at the peak, a pinprick of night-time sky was visible – and the puncture was growing, like a piece of parchment, burning from the centre out. There was yet another crackling sound and a panel of the roof slowly broke away. Loki pulled your head into his collar and the two of you braced for impact. It hit the floor with a strident smash, broke through the ice, and sunk out of sight, leaving the shape of its silhouette behind. Tremors shook your bones as it fell further and further through the tower, knocking against the walls as it went.

“What’s happening?” You asked, confusion quaking through you. Loki wrapped his arms a little tighter and begged you simply to stay close, wincing at the pain in his ribs but pushing it out of his mind. The walls behind him were beginning to drip. The ceiling was crumbling, bit by bit. Even the floor felt soft, like a slab of chocolate that had been left outside on a summer afternoon.

The Tower was melting. Falling apart from the inside out. The curse had been broken. Loki was finally being freed.

Water dropped from the ceiling in sheets now. It cascaded through the air before tumbling through the gaping holes in the floor, left in the wake of the heavier ceiling panels. Those that hadn’t broken through the floor lay shattered and softening around the room.

The night sky was now clearly visible through the aperture above your heads. A tinge of green magic was eating away at the edges, causing the roof to recede. Fresh, cool air barrelled in through the cavity with a chilling whoosh and a terrifying whirl.

Against the soundtrack of twilight, a great groan rumbled through the very bones of the building.

With a sickening jolt, everything jerked downwards. Debris jumped abruptly. Puddles sloshed. Your stomach lurched and your grip on Loki’s shirt tightened exponentially. If the walls were softening… The building’s structure was waning. The top-heavy tower wouldn’t support its own weight much longer. The walls would be bowing in the middle like an hourglass. You could practically see it in your mind’s eye; melting bricks of ice beginning to slip and slide against one another, struggling to stay upright and fighting against the weight it had borne for so long.

The Tower would fall – and it was a long way down.

With frightened eyes, you searched desperately for a solution. The main doorway had deteriorated, cutting off any path to the foyer with its corpse. If there was even a staircase left to descend, you couldn’t reach it.

Your breathing grew deeper and faster as fear crept under your skin. Loki gave you a gentle squeeze.   
“It’ll be alright,” he said with a sly smile. “I might be injured but I’ve still got enough strength left that I can-” he hissed suddenly at the pain in his side. The axe wound was still deep and bleeding. A puddle of red had formed underneath the two of you and pooled on the ice around you. “I can protect us.”

Teifren did not seem as confident, however. He struggled to stay upright when the Tower wobbled. Blue blocks of ice dropped from above and shattered the floor around him like it was made of paper. The room had been divided into two by a large, jagged crevice stretching from one side to the other. Loki and yourself lay on one half; Teifren on the other.

Another shard hit the remaining ground beside him, causing dangerous splinters to fly up and around. Teifren shielded his face. You’d never seen him so afraid.   
“What about him?” You asked, knuckles white with apprehension as the scene unfolded before you. There must’ve been 4 square feet of space left for him to stand on, if that!   
“What _about_ him?” Loki spat. “Even if I was inclined to do as you suggest, I don’t have the magic left in me. It’s why you must stay close. I can’t stretch myself that far.”

The forking crack in the floor was growing, surrounding Teifren and causing his knees to knock together. It would only take a minute more… The ice would cave or melt or break and he would plummet. Loki could see the look in your eye as you watched in horror; he could feel the wriggle in your body. You couldn’t just watch; you’d seen enough death for one lifetime, and you’d been responsible for too much. Not again.

“NO!” Loki screamed as you jumped to your feet. His axe wound forbade him from pulling you back; he yelped painfully when he tried nonetheless. His hands rushed to his waist, but the worst pain he felt was the anxiety. The dread.

Ignoring the sickening height, you leapt nimbly over the breach, to the only remaining platform on the other side. You landed on your feet but felt your ankle twist sharply, and crumpled onto your knees. Ice bit at the palms of your hands, but you persisted.  
“What are you doing?” Teifren yelled over the sound of rushing water. The walls were dissolving into water now at an alarming rate. The ceiling had disappeared entirely, and the green magic had turned to chew at the remaining ice. You stood up shakily, ever aware of how little time you had, and offered him your hand through the downpour. If he would take it, he could be pulled onto your platform, and the two of you could cross the breach onto the safer half of the room.

His defensiveness wavered.   
“Why… Why would you…”  
“Because I am better than you. I won’t let you die because it suits me. Now jump.”

Loki’s blood began to simmer as he watched Teifren take your hand. One wrong move… Anything to put you in danger and Loki would send a dagger towards his throat. Without hesitation. When Teifren jumped, you heaved, and his feet landed precariously next to yours on the platform. The pair of you wobbled in place, holding onto each other fiercely, and Loki bit his lip. It appeared, for now at least, that you had made it.   
“Are you alright?” You asked Teifren. He nodded timidly, until the sound of his platform plunging suddenly out of sight turned his head. He gulped. You’d saved his life.

The two of you began to navigate the remaining floor, no faster than a shuffle. Water sloshed and splashed about the room, making every step a gamble. Would it stick, or would you slip? After a minute of careful treading, you were eventually close enough to the edge that you could make a leap for it. Jumping back over the breach would be harder this time. It appeared that the crevice had widened since your first jump.

Loki’s breath was erratic. In a spur of the moment decision, he yanked the axe from his side, yowling like a wounded animal as he did so. However, it was fleeting pain and he forced himself to focus on you. The tower was almost gone. You wouldn’t make it alone. He had to help. With a guttural groan, Loki allowed himself to hit the floor, dug his nails in, and _pulled_.

A trail of red followed Loki as he dragged himself towards you. Meanwhile, Teifren was trying to convince himself to jump. You shoved him less-than-gently, hoping to convince him also. You didn’t like the way the platform was sinking.  
“Don’t rush me!” Teifren snapped over his shoulder.   
“Don’t make me then.”

Without warning, the tower jolted again. Everything jumped. The platform buckled suddenly, and your legs felt unsteady. Flinging yourself towards the nearest wall, you grasped at a slippery brick and hoped for the best. Sure enough, you were able to steady yourself, if a little precariously. It didn’t make your stomach feel any less like a tsunami, but it helped. Teifren also looked less than stable. Everything was beginning to lean to the left as the collapsing tower swayed in the midnight wind. By the time you’d regained your balance, he was swaying dangerously, wobbling over the giant hole behind him. His arms flailed for purchase, desperate to correct himself, but it was too late.

You reached out a hand to grab his shirt, to save him, but your fingers only grazed cloth. His footing gave way and he tumbled silently over the edge.   
“ _Papa!_ ” You shrieked. Teifren dropped backwards into the abyss, down and down to certain death.

You didn’t have long to mourn. You could feel that you were leaning too. The floor beneath was creaking worryingly and your feet were beginning to slide.  
“Jump to me!” Loki cried, holding his bloody hands out to you. Your stomach churned as the tower rocked nauseatingly.

You leapt – as the floor gave way. Loki lunged forward and caught your hands just in time.   
“Don’t let go…” You begged him quietly, tears in your eyes. “Don’t let go… Please.”  
“I won’t,” he promised, knowing that he also couldn’t heave you up to safety either. He was too weak. Why couldn’t you just have done as you were told? You could’ve avoided all of this.

For the third and final time, the main room sunk abruptly. At the same time, you heard a wet crunch. The body of the tower caved inwards completely. The topmost room began its final descent, tumbling through the sky towards the ground. Your stomach heaved and sent shivers wracking through you. Hold on, Loki screamed internally, hold on, just a little longer.

But you couldn’t. Your hands were slick with blood and water; he felt you slip out of his grasp.

You screamed as the wind rushed past you.

He bellowed your name and threw out his palm in pursuit.

There was a flash of green…

…then black.


	37. Chapter 37

A playful wind swum through the forest like a flitting fish, all gusto, no grace. The leaves of the trees were enveloped by a cool embrace as it darted amongst them, and they longed to join the fun, some moving parallel with it, and others freeing themselves of the trees completely to surf on the tide-like breeze. One leaf in particular – that of an old oak tree – rode for miles; the carefree wind carried it all the way to the edge of the woods, into a clearing. The current dissipated in the open air, however, and left the little green leaf to float on its own.

When it reached the ground, it hit water, not soil.

* * *

 

Once upon a time, in a long-forgotten part of a long-forgotten forest, a swaying stretch of grass – once untarnished and lush – had been corrupted by a great, gleaming monument. Where once the soil was warmed by the sun, ice as cold as the night lay in the cracks of the wounded earth, stretching up to the sky and culminating in a pointed tip.

Now, all that remained of the tall and ominous tower was a thin expanse of water, encompassing the glade and seeping into the soil.

Amid the pool were three bodies.

You didn’t remember falling unconscious. All you remembered was… falling. You had been falling, and Loki had tried to catch you, but then what had happened?

A scream.

Green.

Black.

As your thoughts became less muddied, so did your vision. You were lying on your side in a puddle that stretched as far as your eye could see. The icy water had turned your cheek numb. Placing your palms on the ground, you tried to lift your woozy head though it proved difficult. Each of your limbs felt dense and heavy. Everything hurt. Even your tongue felt like lead.

Eventually, you were sitting up, albeit with a hand pushed into the soggy earth to keep your heavy head from dragging you back down. Water had infiltrated most of your person – from the legs that lay in frigid moisture, to the side of your face that still had no feeling in it. It wasn’t dissimilar to the effect of the knockout bombs, all that time ago.

A gust of wind hit you suddenly. If the water had been cold, the night-time air was practically arctic. With a gasp, you drew your hands around yourself and braced, baring your teeth to cope with the wintery bite of the wind.

Once it had passed, you were panting heavily. Numb in most places, damp, and quivering was not how you’d pictured this night ending. It was time you did something about it. You turned to look for help – and that was when you saw him.

Loki’s body lay about 10 feet away from you, still and unmoving. His limbs were twisted painfully – legs splayed and bent – but a blood-soaked hand still reached out in your direction. In fact, more than just his hand was red now. Loki was encompassed in blood; it surrounded him in an undulating circle of crimson, through which you splashed as you crawled to his side. Duchess lay beside his shoulder, a little splintered and undoubtedly defective, but otherwise still intact.

“Loki…” You wept softly, taking his head into your hands and turning his face towards you. “Loki, it’s okay, you can wake up now.” But he didn’t. You could feel the emptiness at the end of your fingertips. No pulse, no warmth, no life… Nothing. He’d used the last of his magic to save you, and sacrificed himself in the process. Your breathing intensified as you began to lose hope. This was all your fault.

At the sound of a soft grumbling, your eyes widened, and your heart began to hammer against your chest. Was he stirring? Was he alive after all? No, it was more distant than that. It was… behind you.

Teifren got to his knees shakily, almost toppling over again as he did so. Broken ankle, no doubt. On the same leg as the crossbow wound too. He placed his hands beside the bleeding orifice on his thigh and hissed. It was probably infected. Fantastic.

When he surveyed his surroundings, he spotted you in the distance – staring right at him. Duchess was in your hands and your sights were trained at his chest. You weren’t sure how he had survived, but you didn’t care. Fire flooded your veins. Teifren had got lucky, but Loki had paid the price.

Teifren slowly raised his hands. You could see as you stared down her sights that Duchess was broken, and wouldn’t fire. Luckily, he wasn’t in any position to be calling bluffs.   
“I won’t miss a second time,” you screamed at him. Teifren bowed his head obediently.

“You saved my life,” he replied like a wounded animal. “I… I owe you a debt.”  
“Then run,” you spat. “Run away, Teifren, and never return. If I see your face again, I _will_ kill you without a second thought.”

You watched the man who wasn’t your father turn and limp into the woods. After he’d disappeared, you threw Duchess to the ground with a scream. She caused a little splash amongst the water, but otherwise remained whole. Anger and sorrow filled your vision in the form of hot tears. It was the most warmth you’d felt this whole time. You grasped Loki’s lapel and put your head to it, beginning to softly whimper.

* * *

 

Brynjolf was a great deal smaller than Jarle – almost amusingly so. However, it hadn’t stopped the latter doing his best to support the dwarf when a foot injury had impaired his ability to walk. Jarle walked in a slight crouch with Brynjolf’s arm over his shoulders and his own around the man’s waist, helping him to hobble along.

“I’m sorry about your friends,” Jarle said as they walked.  
“They were good folk,” Brynjolf chuckled. “But I ain’t weeping over ‘em. They died like proper men.  They went down fighting – fighting bad folk, no less. Better that than a dynamite accident down them mines.”  
“Nonetheless, what they did was selfless beyond words. I am truly sorry that they had to pay for what our… _those_ people did.”

“Tell ye’ what,” Brynjolf said, pulling his arm from Jarle’s shoulders. He was sure he could manage from here on out. “As soon as I see that Loki and his missus are alright, then ye’ can tell me they didn’t die in vain.”

With a kind smile, Jarle nodded, resting his hand on the hilt of the sword at his hip.  
“We should also be lookin’ for Fenrien too,” Brynjolf yawned, rolling his shoulders and delighting in the feeling of his back muscles relaxing.   
“Which one is he? The handsome one?”

Brynjolf raised a singular bushy eyebrow.   
“Aye, the… _alright-looking_ one.”

The two continued to chatter casually as they navigated the woods, Brynjolf giving directions as best he could from memory. For some reason, the tower wasn’t visible in the distance, not that it was easy to see in the dark. Either something very extreme had occurred or they were hopelessly lost.

Their suspicions were confirmed when they heard footsteps shuffling through the forest towards them. Jarle pulled his sword from its sheath and positioned himself in front of Brynjolf, shield also bared. They waited… and Teifren limped into view.

Upon spotting the warriors, he froze and raised his hands to the sky for the second time that day. Brynjolf rolled his eyes.   
“Just some lone fool,” he muttered as he returned the axe to his back. Jarle, however, remained vigilant. His grip had tightened until his knuckles were white.   
“No,” he murmured, locking eyes with the trembling Teifren. “It isn’t.”

Brynjolf was a little taken aback at the boy’s next actions. Jarle launched himself at Teifren, grabbed him by the shirt collar, and shoved him against a nearby tree trunk. He was angry, like he’d never been before. Even in battle, he hadn’t felt this much power. With narrow eyes, he placed his blade across the coward’s neck.   
“You did this!” he roared. “All this destruction and devastation; it is on your head.”

“After everything we did for you, _boy_ , you would betray us so easily?” Teifren sneered. Unlike you, Jarle was predictable. He’d been programmed for submission and obedience since he was eleven years old. He was all bark, no bite. He could be manipulated. Despite the sharp sword against his throat, Teifren felt no threat.  
“You did nothing for me,” Jarle argued. “You set the path, but ‘twas I who walked it. It was I who excelled at architecture and thrived in my schooling; it was I who befriended and wanted the best for your would-be daughter; and it was I who organised her mother’s funeral. Not you. Me. Believe what you wish but I am my own man. I betray you now because it is the right thing to do.”

“Come on now, kid,” Brynjolf said, placing a gentle hand on Jarle’s shoulder. His head turned tersely, dark-blond hair shaking wildly as he did so. “Or you’ll do something you’ll regret.”

Ferocity practically spilled from the boy’s eyes, and Teifren felt a little terror settle into his bones. After a momentary pause, Jarle spoke, lowly and ferociously, like a hunting lion’s purr.  
“Did you hurt her?”   
“Why should you care?” Teifren replied. “She’s done nothing for you.”  
“She freed me,” he spat back, “and she’s my friend. So, I’ll ask again: did you hurt her?”

The shaking of the blade against his gullet suggested that rational thought had left him now. Jarle was nothing more than his wrath. It was pure, concentrated rage. Teifren was now frightened.   
“She’s alive… but _he_ is not.”

Brynjolf’s mouth fell open, and his wide eyes turned to the stranger.   
“Loki is… He’s dead?”

Jarle’s upper lip tugged up in a bitter snarl. The blade plunged into Teifren’s gut almost of its own will. Pinned to the tree, he was forced to listen to Jarle as he died, the young lion grabbing the back of his head and pulling it up.   
“This is for everyone you’ve hurt through the years,” he snarled. “But most importantly, this is for everything you’ve put her through.”

Teifren felt a trickle of blood spill out of his mouth, and his eyes were cast up as they glazed over. Jarle removed the sword in a fluid motion and let the body slump onto the floor with a dull thump. He wiped the blood onto his trousers and sheathed it once again.

“Come on,” he said, turning to the shocked Brynjolf. Loki was… dead? Impossible. “The sooner we find everybody, the sooner we can see if he was telling the truth.”

Jarle made to leave, when the pair of them heard a strained voice calling their names…

* * *

 

You sniffed wetly and sat up on your knees, wiping the tears from your eyes onto your sleeve. You tucked a strand of hair behind Loki’s ear softly, a melancholy smile gracing your lips for a moment. He might as well have been sleeping. You weren’t sure how long you had been sat there – too long, was all you could think. Your joints had begun to freeze up and the sun could be seen over the horizon, casting warm light over the blue lagoon. It was morning. It was time to move on.

And yet you couldn’t leave him.

This was all your fault. If you hadn’t come to the tower all those months ago, this would never have happened. He’d still be alive, safe at the top of a tower. Bitter, twisted, and resentful, perhaps, but safe all the same. You could picture it now; the reserved smile he’d greet you with whenever you walked in the room; the insults you’d tease each other with; the way he held you like he was afraid of his own affection, like it was a weakness.

If you’d just have listened to him, if you’d not tried to save everyone, he wouldn’t be lying on the floor at your feet. He’d even insisted. He’d known what you’d try and do, how you’d want to help.   
‘For once in your life, just _do as I ask_.’

You couldn’t bear the guilt and shed another tear. It dropped from your cheek into the waters beneath you, drawing your attention along with it.   
“Heal him,” you quietly begged. A hoarse throat had reduced your voice to a whisper. “All this time… All those years, you kept him alive. Don’t you– Don’t you dare abandon him now.”

The world stayed silent and you quickly grew louder, angrier.   
“I know what you are, and I know what you can do!” You screamed at the pool, smashing your fists against the water and making fierce demands. “HEAL HIM! FOR ONCE, JUST DO HIM A FAVOUR AND GIVE HIM ONE MORE CHANCE. HEAL HIM, DAMN YOU! HEAL HIM!”

The Tower would not listen, would not heed your words, and at last you gave up with a wretched sob.   
“Please…”

Holding his cheeks in your hands, you pressed your cool lips to his and prayed he would know life once more.

Loki remained still.

You closed your eyes and bit your lip, finally allowing all hope to flee like a summer bird. It was time to go. You knew that. There was nothing more you could do for him here.

Jarle and Brynjolf reached the edge of the glade, with a very injured Fenrien in tow. The arrow to his shoulder was no longer the worst of his injuries. Though he had won the fight with the riders, the penalties had been high, and he was weak beyond repair. That was, until he saw what was in front of him.

“It’s… It’s gone,” Fenrien stammered. Even Brynjolf was rendered speechless by the melted ice which lapped at the toes of his boots. Jarle’s focus was elsewhere. He watched you lean in and press a kiss to a dead man’s lips. This must be the Loki everybody spoke of; worse still, it seemed that Teifren had spoken the truth. He was no more.

Fenrien covered his mouth to conceal the sob that escaped him. He closed his eyes and turned momentarily away. After everything they’d been through, after everything that had happened… they’d still lost. They’d lost him.

Jarle could see that you were shivering. He wanted to help. Brynjolf grabbed the back of his trousers when he stepped forward, however. Jarle turned to glare at him. Brynjolf simply shook his head.   
“Not yet,” he murmured. “Let ‘er come to us.”

As if on cue, you climbed awkwardly to your feet, stiff and shaking. You wrapped your arms around yourself and turned slowly around, sodden clothing sticking to your skin and hair clinging to the sides of your face. When you looked up, you caught sight of your friends, watching you with pity-laden gazes. How long had they been there? You decided that you didn’t care. The sight of them alone was enough to offer solace. They were alive, and you had someone to run to.

Jarle was eventually released and met you with open arms. He could say nothing to you, nor do anything, except hold you close and let you cry. Brynjolf and Fenrien waited at the forest’s edge, the latter painfully enduring his wounds as best as possible. They watched as you were eventually released from Jarle’s embrace and guided towards them with his arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders.

Their expressions dripped with sympathy, but it was the last thing you wanted right now. Guilt ate you up from the inside out. You didn’t need compassion.

Luckily, just as you thought this, their expressions swiftly changed. Fenrien’s eyes widened noticeably and Brynjolf shook his head, as if he wasn’t quite sure what he was looking at. Your eyebrows knitted together and even Jarle felt it necessary to ask if they were alright.

The only response you got was from Brynjolf, who pointed at the water beneath your feet.


	38. Chapter 38

Everywhere you looked, the water was moving, running, rushing, racing - all in one direction.

Loki.

The puddle shrunk around his body like it was a sponge. Where Jarle felt the need to move away in awe, you stepped closer, excitement and trepidation taking hold of you. Could it be…?

The water gushed and splashed around him, encircling each of Loki’s limbs like ribbons until his body was only a blur in a blanket of spray. In a swift motion, his body was thrust into the air on top of an aquatic column, holding him at least 8 feet off the ground.

There he remained for 5 heart-pounding, breath-stealing minutes. The ribbons of water abandoned his ligaments, instead circling and whirling around his body in a great wet sphere; a bubble of magic and moisture. A familiar green glow bled into the waves, giving the orb an eery hue. The palette of pigments turned the water an intoxicating turquoise, contrasted only by the beams of gold light that pierced the veil and shone out in every direction. It was unlike anything you’d ever seen.

Loki’s body was barely visible amid it all. As you stepped tentatively closer, you narrowed your eyes and tried to discern his silhouette amongst the cascading aqua sheets. It almost looked like he was… moving.

When the bubble of magic burst, you stumbled backwards with an arm over your eyes. You hit the soft soil with a gasp, expecting a cold shower to hit you. However, it was strangely warm. The droplets that hit your skin seemed to tingle.

For a minute, you could do nothing but sit there in the strange rain that began to fall. Fear held you in place. You didn’t want to look. You didn’t want to see… in case he wasn’t there.

The sound of gasping from your companions was what finally forced your hand. You looked up – and Loki looked right back at you. He was like a dream, or a dream of a dream. No more did he wear the clothes you’d crafted. Instead, he donned leather. Patches of emerald and ebony swathed his body, with gauntlets, shoulder-plates, a breastplate and belt dripping in brilliant gold. A gilded helmet with curved horns sat atop his head too – a tad ridiculous but not without grandeur, as you were sure was the intended effect. Finally, a matching cape of brilliant green flowed from his shoulders to the floor, curling gently in the wind.

Loki’s hands were moving around his body wildly, seemingly in disbelief. He wasn’t the only one sceptical. You didn’t want to get your hopes up, to believe that he was truly here, but you couldn’t fault that it was a _damned good_ illusion. Tentatively, you got to your feet, and the movement drew Loki’s attention. His eyes met yours, and you knew. This was real. It had to be.

Tears sprung into your eyes. He grinned, and held his arms wide.  
“What do you think?”

He was showing off. You laughed once, and jumped into a sprint. Loki pulled the helmet from his head and tossed it aside as he strode towards you. He stumbled when you hit him, wrapping your arms around his neck and practically throwing yourself into his. He spun you around to compensate for his knocked balance.

“You’re alive,” you whispered when your feet hit solid ground again. Loki’s arms slithered around your waist and held you against him. Meanwhile, you were touching his face softly, running your fingers over his jaw and his cheek. It felt bizarre; he was real. “You died – I saw you die – but you’re… you’re here, you’re alive!” He smirked.  
“You would doubt such a thing? Is it not my forte?”

With an incredulous smile, you rested your palm against the side of Loki’s face – and smacked him. Hard. Jarle winced, pressing a closed fist to his mouth. Brynjolf erupted into laughter.

Loki recoiled and covered his reddening skin with both hands. He turned to you with silent confusion spilling from an open mouth. How dare you–  
“What were you thinking?” You yelled, folding your arms tightly. “Sacrificing yourself like that? How stupid can you possibly be?”  
“Stupid? You think I–“ He scoffed loudly and stood upright. “I wouldn’t have had to sacrifice myself if _someone_ had done as they were told.”

“Oh, yes, of course, forgive me for trying to save a man’s life.”  
“Heavens above, woman, he was a villain!” Loki cried. “It’s no wonder you’re always getting into trouble. You don’t _listen_!”  
“You watch your mouth, sir,” you snapped, stepping closer to Loki and glaring up at him fiercely.

Jarle returned to Brynjolf’s side with bewilderment evident in his eyes. The dwarf held up a hand, insisting he have patience. Any minute now…  
“My mouth? You’re telling me to watch _my_ mouth?” Loki snorted. “This from the woman who got herself imprisoned for blethering like a fool to the ruler of the realm!”  
“I was trying to help!”

Loki laughed loudly and stepped once more towards you, his face dark.  
“You always think you are helping, or do you forget the reason we fought in the first place? You are arrogant, you are ignorant, and strife is drawn to you like a moth is a flame; you’re a meddlesome woman who refuses to learn.”

You raised your hand to slap him again; Loki caught your wrist, however, and pulled you sharply towards him, covering your mouth with his own. You fervently and impulsively returned the kiss. When eventually your offensive hand softened, Loki released his grip upon it to slide his arm around your shoulders. His other arm wrapped around your waist. His ardent embrace allowed your knees to weaken without fear of falling; you felt safe in his arms.

Brynjolf looked at Jarle over his nose.  
“Smug,” the latter chuckled.  
“They don’t make it hard. Damned fools is too predictable. Eh, Fenrien?”

* * *

 

When you finally stopped for breath, Loki’s grip did not waver, keeping your body close to his.  
“I hate that I fell for someone so terrible,” he smirked, pressing his forehead to yours. With his lips so close, you felt your body rise as though to kiss him for a second time. Loki knew what he was doing; toying with you, teasing you.  
“The feeling is mutual, I promise.”

Loki wanted to kiss you again, whilst he could feel the want in each of your zealous breaths, but frantic cries from the edge of the forest gave him pause.  
“Someone had better be dying,” he growled when you wriggled free to see what all the commotion was about.

Fenrien was slumped at the bottom of a tree, taking breath in the form of thin, shallow gasps. Brynjolf knelt beside him, holding his blood-soaked hand fiercely. The man wasn’t oft one for tears, but there was something about the empty gaze in Fen’s eyes that had him shaking. Jarle was pacing to and fro in the distance, chewing his thumb and awaiting your arrival.

Fenrien smiled weakly when he saw you arrive with Loki. He reached out his hand, which you took and held tightly. You lowered yourself to the floor beside Brynjolf.  
“I’m… very happy for you two,” he panted, voice like a set of bellows.  
“Oh, Fen,” You laughed morosely, feeling tears begin to resurface. “What’ve you gotten yourself into, hey?”  
“This?” He wheezed, before spluttering once or twice. “Nothing more than a scratch, little one.”

Loki frowned at the pet name. He wasn’t especially fond of the elf, given your history together, but despite that, the exchange wasn’t easy to watch. Fenrien was bleeding everywhere it was possible to bleed from. A hole in his shoulder held the broken head of an arrow in it, whilst cuts and grazes littered his skin from head to toe. It was a wonder he’d made it this far. Exactly how many people had Fenrien fought off to keep you safe? Whether it was one or one-hundred men, Loki decided that he owed this man a debt – and Loki wasn’t keen on owing anybody anything…

You bowed your head.  
“This is all my fault. I could’ve helped,” you whimpered. You would’ve done so much differently if you’d known this was the outcome. “Fenrien, I’m… I’m so sorry.”

With a gentle, effervescent laughter, Fenrien pushed aside a strand of your hair.  
“Little one, I spent many months in a prison cell, thinking I’d never see daylight again. You are the reason I did. If I am to give my life as payment for that, then so be it. Thanks to you, I saw the sun one last time.

“Thanks to you, I am free.”

Brynjolf sniffed and cleared his throat, patting his friend’s hand affectionately.  
“And thanks to our lady ‘ere, I gained a grand business partner,” he declared, puffing out his chest. Fenrien watched him with sparkling eyes. “You’re a good bloke, and… and a fine friend.”  
“Thank you. Everybody, thank you,” he replied, with water trickling down his cheek. “I… couldn’t ask… for better friends…”

Fenrien took as deep a breath as his wounded lungs could manage and turned his eyes upwards as he expelled it. Dawn was beginning to break over your heads, and as his eyes glazed over, the last thing they saw were the rays of yellow and amber that filtered through the leaves.

Loki bowed his head for a moment. There was no avoiding the responsibility. He knew what he had to do. As Brynjolf gathered you into a hug and pressed his lips to the top of your head, Loki turned on his heel and marched away. Jarle’s head whipped around. He watched the cloaked figure disappear with narrow eyes. Before Loki could vanish completely, he was on his tail.

“Where are you going?” Jarle asked. Loki ignored him, and he was forced to follow the billowing green cape until they reached the edge of the glade. “Hey, I’m talking to you! Where are you going? You can’t just leave.”

Loki stopped abruptly, and turned with his arms behind his back.  
“Oh, I beg your pardon, were you speaking to me? All I heard was an incessant whine.”  
“I’ll ignore that for now.”  
“As you wish.”

Before Loki could leave again, Jarle spoke.  
“Can’t you do anything for him?” He asked, “If that show is anything to go by, you know your way around a spell or two. What’s stopping you from helping?” Loki sighed. Clearly, the fool knew nothing about magic.  

“What _spells_ can heal are things that have cures. Infections, for instance. This is blood loss, plain and simple. There’s no cure for that.”

“So then where are you going?” Once again, Loki didn’t immediately respond.  
“I… I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

Jarle clenched his fists.  
“If you abandon her after everything she’s been through, I will personally hunt you down and make you suffer for it.”

“Abandon-?” What an accusation! Loki grew angry, stepping closer to Jarle with a twinkle of rage in his eyes. He delighted in seeing the man’s hand instinctively grip the hilt of his sword. “Do not pretend to know my intentions, or to know me.”  
“I only profess to know what I’ve observed.”  
“And what is it you see?”

“A coward,” Jarle declared, cheeks hollowing as he gritted his teeth. In all honesty, Loki was a lot more terrifying than he’d expected. The grip on his sword remained steadfast.

Loki smiled wickedly. He could tell the boy was afraid of him. He liked that.  
“You don’t trust me, do you?”  
“Give me one good reason why I should.”

“Because, for some reason, she does,” Loki smiled, before turning on his heel and heading back for the centre of the clearing where his helmet still lay…

* * *

 

Jarle had promptly returned to your side after the altercation with Loki had concluded. Brynjolf’s eyes were watery but still he refused to cry. You, on the other hand, were sniffling quietly into his shoulder, gazing at Fenrien’s body as though he were sleeping and could still awaken. Brynjolf stroked your hair fondly, telling you that he was undoubtedly in a better place.

The day’s events had left you caked in soil, water, and blood. You were cold and filthy. As well as this, your emotions were riding high on a tide of exhaustion. Every bone in your body longed for a bath and a bed. Loki could see, even from the distance at which he stood, that you needed help, although you weren’t aware of it yet. All those months of caring for you after you’d landed yourself in trouble had made him somewhat adept at figuring out when you needed him.

However, he ought to help Fenrien first. He didn’t have long.

Fenrien’s body lay as it had when he’d passed. His head was tilted upwards, eyes closed, and his mouth resting in a soft smile.  
“He’s gone,” you stammered, rubbing your eyes fiercely and standing to greet him. Loki frowned at you. He was clutching his helmet tightly, turned upside down so the horns faced south. You eyed it warily. Why had he gone back for that?

“If this works,” Loki sighed as he surpassed you and drew nearer, “I don’t ever want to ever hear of it again. Not a word. He’ll be insufferable otherwise.”  
“If what works? What are you going to do?”

Brynjolf noticeably stiffened. If this was some sort of experiment, he didn’t like the idea of it. Fenrien had already suffered enough – at least now he knew peace. Why disturb the body? He was reluctant to let Loki any closer. The man was dead; let him be!

It took a few seconds to find an angle where the horns didn’t obstruct him, but eventually Loki was able to place the edge of the helmet against Fenrien’s lips. He tilted it up and crystal blue liquid fell into his mouth.  
“Is that…?”  
“There wasn’t much left,” Loki told you. “Most of it healed me; the rest had more or less evaporated.”

The melted tower set to work at once, each of Fenrien’s wounds beginning to glow green and gold, like a macabre kaleidoscope. Loki set the helmet down and seated himself gently on the ground. Jarle was watching him scrupulously; if his intentions had been so honourable, then why conceal them? Did he really enjoy appearing mysterious and threatening?

Jarle resolved that he would never trust Loki – even if his liquid magic breathed life back into Fenrien’s lungs.

The elf sat up with a tremendous gasp, panting with both excitement and desperation. You gripped Loki’s arm fiercely, and he smirked.

“I- I- I don’t understand,” Fenrien stuttered. “I… I was…”  
Brynjolf laughed heartily and clapped a heavy hand onto his friend’s shoulder.  
“Welcome back to the land of the living!” He announced joyously. You broke into a giddy smile. Even Jarle was admittedly pleased.  
“But I don’t understand? What happened? How am I–”  
“What do ye’ think happened?” Brynjolf chuckled. “Ol’ sour stones here brought you back with his voodoo!”

“What happened to a pledge of silence, dwarf?” Loki spat. Could he not have waited at least five minutes? With a roll of your eyes, you surprised Loki with a kiss on the cheek. It shut him up long enough that Brynjolf could help Fenrien to his feet without comment. Once he was standing, Fenrien hobbled over and placed his hands upon Loki’s shoulders.  
“You have saved my life, friend Loki, and I am eternally grateful.”  
“We’ve been over this; you and I are not friends.”

Fenrien arched a slender eyebrow and smirked. Loki turned his head with a sigh, and chewed the inside of his lip.  
“I suppose…” He cleared his throat. “I suppose we are _acquaintances_ , at best.”

“I always knew you adored me!” Fenrien laughed, pulling Loki into an awkward hug and slapping him enthusiastically on the back. You giggled softly at the sight, especially amused by the look in Loki’s eye which suggested he would just as quickly kill Fenrien again for coming near him.

Fenrien finally released Loki and you took his place, slipping your hand into his and giving it a gentle squeeze. Whilst Fenrien, Jarle, and Brynjolf were distracted with celebrating, you took the opportunity to speak with him.  
“You didn’t have to do that,” you said, leaning your head on his shoulder.  
“If I could undo it, I would. The fool will think I’m partial to him now, or something equally ridiculous.”

You rolled your eyes and let the comment slide. Loki was softening. You knew he’d never be anything other than a mischievous scoundrel, but he had his moments and that was enough.

“So,” you sighed. “What now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart by [@wanderingworldwarrior](https://wanderingworldwarrior.tumblr.com/post/167152168999/warriors-fic-recs):  
> 


	39. Chapter 39

Thor was tired.

He was used to the festival taking up most of his energy, but this time things had been different. They had to be. With two convicts having escaped only days before, security had been on high-alert. He’d had to be vigilant, and scrupulous. The woman and her accomplice could have struck at any moment… and yet it was all for nought.

Despite your claims, the festival held in his brother’s memory amounted to nothing more than it did every other year. The only trouble he’d encountered was that of a rumour, detailing a small market village a day’s ride away which had spontaneously gone up in flames.

Thor was so very tired. He was tired of looking over his shoulder night and day; he was tired of wanting and waiting for answers that wouldn’t come; he was tired of mourning a brother who might not have been dead; he was tired of it all.

Sif had noticed in their last training session that Thor was not his best. She refused to continue afterwards.  
“I don’t know what it is,” she had stated calmly, “or why you haven’t spoken to any of us about it, but you need to deal with this unrest.”

She had bore that look in her eye which insisted she knew better. Typically, this look wasn’t inaccurate.  
“It is a most unusual unease from which I suffer,” he had explained to her. “Otherwise, our sparring would have helped me greatly, as you know.”  
“I know. If your turmoil is so unorthodox, then I wager that its remedy is equally so. Peruse the library, Thor, or take a turn around the grounds. Whatever you would not consider therapeutic could likely be the opposite in this instance.”

And that is how Thor found himself wandering the palace gardens in the early hours of the afternoon. The sun was just past its highest and beat down upon the ground relentlessly, hardening the soil underfoot and lighting up the pond lilies until they glittered a gorgeous silver. Thor’s hands were clasped behind his back and he leaned in to sniff a rose. It smelt like… like a… like a flower. Oh, this was futile! What had Sif expected to happen in the gardens?

Little did he know, his honorary healer was observing the effects of her prescription as he underwent it. Leaning against one of the pillars by the palace, Sif watched him in secret, hoping to see his demeanour change, when Fandral the Dashing appeared beside her.  
“Our prince has taken to horticulture?” He chuckled, spotting what had taken her attention.  
“Something troubles him, Fandral,” Sif sighed, folding her arms. “But I cannot fathom what. I’ve never seen him like this before.”

“You have not?” He asked with a tilted head. A strand of golden hair fell over his eye and he brushed it away casually.  
“You have?”

He sighed and nodded gently. “After Loki was declared dead in his cell by the Allfather, may he rest in peace.”  
“Loki’s death was a dark time for us all,” Sif bowed her head. “But it explains nothing. Why should he be affected now, so suddenly?”  
“Perhaps the festival hit him harder than usual this year.”

“Perhaps…” The two warriors watched their friend curiously as he moved around the rose bushes and made to walk along the hedge that bordered the far edge of the gardens. Their eyes were naturally drawn along the path – to where the foliage rustled.

“Fandral–”  
“I see it,” he said quickly, drawing his sword and bounding down the steps into the gardens. An intruder, he thought. How exciting!

Thor had seen it also and summoned Mjolnir to his waiting hand. Sif leapt over multiple planters, making a final dive towards the garden path and rolling when she landed. Fandral had already arrived, ready to defend his monarch at all costs. Both pointed sharp blades at the shimmying shrubbery.

The hedge continued to bustle, the _snap_ , _snap_ , _snap_ of someone breaking branches emanating from within, each louder than the last as they drew closer. Sif pulled the shield from her shoulder and bared her sword beside it, prepared to engage. Fandral twirled his rapier, admittedly excited to see who was so bold as to try and sneak in.

You were the last person that any of them expected.

Unless they counted the twigs and leaves in your hair, you were unarmed. Thus, Sif and Fandral detained you with ease, grabbing your forearms and forcing you onto your knees in front of the king. Sif placed a hand on the back of your head too, pushing it down harshly. All you could see was the toe of her boot.

“Name yourself, wench,” she commanded. Your name was promptly given – but, strangely enough, not by you. Sif and Fandral turned slowly to Thor whose mouth hung open in surprise.  
“She’s the escaped convict,” he clarified, watching the back of your head scrupulously. Something didn’t sit right with him – you were worryingly obedient. Why not fight, as you had before? Why not protest?

“If this is the missing convict, then we should arrest her!” Fandral declared with a grin. Perhaps this was what had been troubling Thor all along – an escaped prisoner could be no source of calm to a ruling king. If he could tackle the problem here and now, he’d undoubtedly improve his friend’s mental health.

Sif, however, held steady. As good as Fandral’s intentions were, he was acting hastily, she surmised.  
“Why come back?” She asked aloud. “She would know the danger, that she’d risk being apprehended again. Getting caught could be exactly what this woman wants.” Realising his mistake, Fandral frowned and tightened his grip on your shoulder.

Thor was thinking similarly; if you were indeed a former collaborator of his brother, as you so claimed to be, then he wouldn’t put it past you to allude that arrest was not what you sought, when in fact it was. Unless you were bluffing, and had actually hoped to infiltrate unseen. But then that too could be a bluff!

In trying to decipher your intentions, Thor felt a headache brewing. Somehow, he didn’t attribute his brother’s extravagant cunning to you. This was the same woman who had bested the mighty Thor with a shoe – and then loudly apologised to him for it. The way you shook gently in Sif’s fierce grip also supported his assumptions.

Even in your first arrest, you’d felt braver than this. You’d kicked and screamed and tried to fight back. This time, however, you forced yourself to submit, despite your better judgement begging you otherwise. Every cell in your body was screaming at you to run, to flee, to get away! _Don’t get arrested again_ , they warned.

However, you resisted the urge as best you could. Thor needed to know.

“I did not lie,” you mumbled, voice trembling with fear. Sif heard your attempt at speech and pulled your head up by the hair. You hissed in pain.  
“Speak plainly,” she commanded, “or I shall behead you where you stand.”

“I did not lie,” you cried. “Loki is alive!”

Sif’s grip on your hair wavered slightly. Fandral’s eyes widened. The two shared a look of disbelief; astonishment. Had she said…?

Only Thor seemed unsurprised by the declaration. Sif wagered it was because he’d heard it before. It would certainly explain why he’d been so distracted. Nonetheless, she didn’t like it. Something felt… off about the whole situation. They were missing something obvious.

Thor stepped marginally closer, no longer afraid or concerned. He was, quite simply, bewildered. Your eyes watched him warily as he neared (not that you had much choice with Sif’s ferocious hold on your hair keeping your head in place).  
“First, you speak lies to me in middle of the forest,” he began, clasping his hands together, “but I dismiss it in good faith. Then you bombard me with correspondence, falsifying his hand, and this results in your arrest. Now, you insist upon infiltrating my home, at great risk to your life, to tell me the very same thing I have not believed the first two times!

“Were I not so confused, I would be impressed at your persistence. For what purpose could this all be? I have suffered enough! Why do you continue to insist he is still with us?”

“Because you refuse to hear her,” Loki sighed as he exited the hedge, brushing cobwebs from his sleeves, “even if she speaks the truth.”

Silence descended as swiftly as a coursing river. Thor’s eyes widened significantly, and his companions also found themselves glued in place. Unfortunately, it didn’t help your predicament. Sif’s hand remained wound amongst your hair. A small cramp had begun to form in the back of your neck, causing you to wince a little.

When he realised that he would not get the exuberant reaction he’d hoped for, Loki rolled his eyes and huffed.  
“My lady,” he asked the warrior, “would you be so kind as to release my friend? I fear she is becoming aggrieved.”

Ultimately, it was shock that laxed the grips of both Sif and Fandral. As Loki stepped closer to them, they backed away, faces as though they’d encountered a ghost. You were eventually released and fell into Loki’s waiting arms.  
“Are you alright?” He asked warmly, helping you to your feet and holding you against him.  
“You had to walk us through a bloody hedge, didn’t you? ‘We’re less likely to be detected if we go this way,’ he says. ‘It’ll be the safest route’. I’ll be pulling insects out of my ears for weeks, idiot!”

Loki frowned.  
“‘ _Thank you, oh great and powerful Loki, for arriving in time to prevent my detention and decapitation_ ’,” he muttered bitterly.

Thor watched the encounter with a flurry of emotions. His mind raced with thoughts he simply couldn’t quantify. Was this a trick? An illusion that you had conjured to fool him? No, you couldn’t have magic, or your jailbreak would’ve been simpler. Admittedly, everything from Loki’s appearance to his mannerisms was uncanny; familiar; accurate. There was no illusion that could replicate the twinkle of mischief in his brother’s eye.

But this then meant that Loki was… truly alive. How could it be? How was he here after all this time? It took a moment for everything to sink in; you’d been telling the truth all along. About Loki, about his father… Everything. Thor realised in that moment that he had acted like a fool.

“It’s… It’s you,” he whispered, drawing both of your attentions at once. “You’re truly in front of me – not an apparition or an hallucination?”  
“I find it helps to slap him,” you suggested. “Satisfying as well as informative.” Loki pinched you in the rib and you jumped aside with a yelp. Whilst his so-called brother was distracted with smiling impishly at you, Thor leaned down and collected a handful of pebbles from the path under his feet.

Each small stone bounced off Loki’s leathers, earning a fierce and befuddled expression. Despite his experiment, Thor still struggled to wrap his head around the situation, rubbing his brow as if it would help.  
“I don’t understand, Loki. How can you be here?”

With a gentle sigh, Loki took a moment to decide how best to begin. This would require a delicacy that he wasn’t sure he possessed. “Odin was not the man you… _we_ thought he was. He imprisoned me in an enchanted tower far from the capital, though for what purpose, I could not say. The criteria for my release was… explicit, but recently it was met, and so I was freed.” He looked to you fondly, with a sparkle in his eyes and your heart swelled more than you cared to admit. “Although it was infuriating to both myself and my friend here, your stubbornness – your ignorance – was… understandable. I discovered Odin’s true nature a long time ago, but you never had cause to distrust him. Until now, I hope.”  
“Father did this?” Thor asked. He sounded like it a wounded animal and your heart pained for him. His eyes were quickly moistening, and he looked as pale as snow.

Odin? Surely not… Thor’s world began to fracture and collapse. It made no sense to him. Why– How could Odin have done this? Could he even believe what this Loki said? He was undeniably known for waxing lyrical. Part of him was still reluctant to believe that this was even his brother! Perhaps he’d passed out whilst he was perusing the gardens – unable to bear the afternoon heat. However, if that were the case, then this sudden distrust of Odin would be his own stream of subconscious, which was far more disconcerting.

No. Deep down, he knew… This was true.

“And mother? Was she as corrupt?” He asked. Loki sighed and bowed his head low. He could picture the Allmother’s soft expression, steadily but surely pouring guilt into his heart.  
“I cannot speak for Frigga, but to my knowledge, she was not only uninvolved but as ignorant as you.”

Thor felt a wave of relief. Hope warmed him from the inside out, Frigga’s example serving as a shining light in his newly-darkened mind. Among other things, his mother was proof that not his whole family had been tainted by fraudulence. The thought alone improved his demeanour considerably.  
“As far as I’m aware, Odin took the secret of my whereabouts to his grave.”  
“His grave?” Thor said suddenly, tilting his head. “Loki, father is not dead.”

Loki’s stomach jumped a mile into the air. His heart began to pound so loudly that he wondered if it was audible to those around him. You could see the blood draining from his face and started to worry. However, Thor noticed too and developed a wicked grin.  
“Your face, brother!” He chuckled, folding his arms and letting his chest bulge. “How does it feel to have the tables turned upon yourself?”

“That was… That was incredibly cruel,” Loki growled, admittedly a little stunned that he’d been fooled so easily. Evidently, he’d been out of the game too long. Despite his frustration, you could see the relief swimming in his eyes and laughed politely.

“I don’t know what you think is so amusing!” Loki quickly snapped. “You are just as bad!” After a momentary look of confusion, your mind was cast back to a particularly sleepy morning in the tower. _You’re a war criminal, you need to regret it to get out of here, and you’re madly in love with me._ You blushed fiercely. If only you’d known that it would be true after all!  
“I resent that statement,” you mumbled with a bashful grin. “My joke was far more… innocent.”

When Thor finished chortling, he assessed the encounter that was occurring before him. You kicked the soil underfoot with the toe of your boot, whilst Loki watched you with an indiscernible gleam in his eyes. Thor noted that he looked… content. Almost affectionate. The Loki he remembered had never looked like this. What was your relationship to his brother then? All this time you’d been advocating for his freedom, and the role that Thor supposedly played in triggering it. Yet here you stood, having had no help. How was he now free without familial intervention?

“You mentioned a criterion for your release,” Thor enquired, clearing his throat to draw both of your foci. “Am I to assume that the good lady here was responsible for your emancipation?”  
“Only partly,” Loki sighed, ignoring how pleased with yourself you suddenly looked. If people kept thanking you for freeing him, your head mightn’t fit through the palace doors! “There were two conditions for my release in the end. The first of which was to regret the events upon Midgard-”  
“-and this woman helped you to see the error of your ways!” Thor announced suddenly, cutting Loki off to clap his hands together. His chest swelled with pride. “You’ve finally come to regret the war upon Midgard, have you?”

“Hardly,” Loki snorted, irritated by both the assumption and the interruption. “My actions were my own and I take responsibility for them with no remorse.” Thor’s mouth clamped shut. To hear Loki speak so assuredly about his crimes was disappointing. Part of him had honestly hoped that his brother would as the man he’d grown up alongside.

“Furthermore, if I’d never laid siege to that planet, I’d never have suffered my penance, and if that were the case…” Loki reached out and took your hand, pulling you slowly towards him, adoration in his eyes. You seemed a little reluctant in the presence of the king – was this inappropriate? – but Loki persisted regardless of your anxieties. “If I’d never done those things, I’d never have met this woman, and how could I regret that?”

Thor’s eyes widened. It was not the turn of events he’d expected but they were interesting nonetheless! Perhaps his brother had changed more than he thought.  
“I see. So the second criteria was-”  
“Yes,” Loki said with a smile. “It was, and I do.”

You bit your lip and ran a hand through your hair.  
“I do too,” you whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart by [@awkwrd-fangirl-artist](https://awkward-fangirl-artist.tumblr.com/post/169691776077/and-another-fanart-for-littlemisssyreid-hope):  
> and [@lucky-we-have-loki](https://lucky-we-have-loki.tumblr.com/post/171746642003/you-had-to-walk-us-through-a-bloody-hedge):  
> 


	40. Chapter 40

“Brother, walk with me,” Thor asked politely, gesturing towards the path behind him. Reluctantly, Loki was persuaded to leave your embrace and follow.

Without Loki by your side, you were left feeling a little… lost. Isolated. After all, you were in the _royal palace_. The capital couldn’t have been farther from home, so to be in the palace itself was even more nerve-wracking. To say you felt out of place was an understatement, a feeling that wasn’t helped by the glare you received from the Lady Sif, who was still stood nearby with her arms folded.

Even Fandral didn’t like the look she was giving you. He cleared his throat, clicked his heels together, and approached you.   
“I do hope you’ll forgive me for disappearing, but I should probably inform a few people that Loki now lives. Lessen the blow, and all that,” he said quickly, eager not to be around when Sif had decided what to make of you. “Lovely to meet you, sorry for trying to arrest you, and thanks for bringing Loki back. Farewell!” Just like that, Fandral was away, making haste through the gardens to find Hogun and Volstagg.

Sif’s eyes never wavered. She was assessing you. Analysing. Calculating. What was your angle? She wondered. You met her gaze and bit your lip. She had every reason to distrust you; all you could do was wait and hope that her character permitted forgiveness.

With a curt sigh, her expression softened and, much as Thor had, she gestured to the garden path. Eager not to irritate, you accepted her invitation and trotted to her side. The two of you strolled in casual silence. She watched pensively as your eyes flitted between the gravelly floor and the back of Loki’s head; he walked several feet ahead of you alongside his brother.

“You care for him,” she observed aloud, drawing your attention.   
“I… I do, yes.”  
“And you are aware of what he did all those years ago?”

“More or less, yes,” you replied, the desire to make a good impression ramping up your nerves. What was Sif implying with all these questions? “As best as he was able to explain at least.”

“Then what do you hope to gain?” She asked, tilting her head. It was almost as though Sif was genuinely curious; she couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that somebody cared for someone who’d committed such atrocities.   
“I don’t hope for anything. I’ve already gained it. It is my understanding that he feels the same way about me and that’s all I could hope for.”

Sif frowned. She was still lost. In all honesty, she believed that you must have some sort of ulterior motive for seemingly having seduced the prince, but she just couldn’t prove it yet. You weren’t ignorant to this assumption either; you could see how it must look.   
“Look, allow me to break it down a little,” you offered. “When I met Loki, I had absolutely no idea who he was. The village I grew up in was so far from the capital that we essentially had nothing to do with the royal family. All they care… _cared_ about was the current ruler, just in case they rolled into town. Everything else – Loki’s siege of Midgard, for example – was just politics that nobody considered important. Whatever you think I get out of this relationship, I promise just isn’t true.”

Sif nodded slowly, seemingly content with your answer. Whether she fully believed you was yet to be seen.   
“You corrected yourself just then, talking about your village. You said they cared – past tense.” You bowed your head and breathed shakily. For a moment, the lady wondered whether she’d gone a step too far.  
“Yes, they… they died. My village burned to the ground.” _  
_ “You have my condolences,” Sif said suddenly, placing a firm hand on your shoulder. Her eyes denoted genuine compassion. __  
“Thank you,” you smiled. “They weren’t good people, but I still feel like I lost a large part of myself, you know?”  
“I cannot say I do, if they are as unjust as you say, but you have my sympathy nonetheless.”

There was an uncomfortable pause after Sif has spoken, and she removed her hand. Granted a moment of peace in which to think, your head began to spin.

It had been three days since Loki’s emancipation. Three days without a home. Loki had ultimately decided that he wanted to return to the palace, to see his brother again and try for the life he’d once had. He entreated you to join him, and you’d accepted.

With no business left to run, Fenrien and Brynjolf had offered their companionship and Jarle, with nowhere else to go, came too. The five of you had trekked night and day through the forest, ever aiming for the capital cities of Asgard. Ground had been covered rapidly but at the cost of luxury. You’d spent the last two nights sleeping on the ground.

And yet you’d enjoyed every second of it; sitting around a campfire with Fenrien and Brynjolf, the former warbling lullabies of his homeland; Brynjolf spinning stories from his time down in the mines; Loki and Jarle bickering over whose turn it was to keep watch.

Yes, the places you’d once lived were long gone, but your home... Your home was wherever they were. Your family.

“So, this part of yourself that you are missing – does he fulfil it?” Sif asked, breaking your train of thought. _  
_ “Loki? I… hadn’t thought of it like that, but, yes, I suppose. There was more going on in my hometown than I was privy to. Corruption. Exploitation. Extortion. Even murder. If I hadn’t met him, I’d have gone my whole life ignorant to those crimes, and suffered accordingly. I might’ve freed him from his prison but truly, he rescued _me_. From a man who masqueraded as my father, from the terrible organisation that he was a part of; all of it. He’s my saviour.”

Sif seemed far happier with that answer, laughing politely when you made her promise not to tell Loki that you’d said such kind things about him.   
“The two of you might have more in common than you think, if that is the case.” _  
_ “What do you mean by that?”  
“I’m assuming that he hasn’t already told you, and that your upbringing away from, how you say, _politics_ mean you do not know of Loki’s true lineage?”  
“He didn’t, and I do not. Should I be concerned?”

“It is not my news to give,” Sif sighed, waving her hands dismissively. “He should tell you himself. However, I believe it is pertinent that you know – Odin was not Loki’s father, much as the man who raised you was not of blood.”  
“I- I see. I did not know that.”

“Yes, well. There you have it. The rest I shall allow him to describe in his own time. Speaking of which, shall we attempt to catch up?”

* * *

 

Thor’s mouth was thin. Loki had finished recounting the tale of his imprisonment – everything from the enchantress who crafted the curse, to the tower’s destruction.   
“We left our companions outside of the city, awaiting word from us, and snuck in the only way I could think to be conspicuous. The rest you know.”  
“That’s… quite a story,” Thor murmured, suffering from information overload. Loki rolled his eyes.   
“Made even more spectacular by the fact that it is true, and not just a story.”

Thor chuckled lowly. He believed it, there was no doubt of that. However, his mind was not currently functioning as a concerned brother. All he could think as was a monarch. __  
“Despite your honesty, I fear that some may not believe you as willingly as I.”  
“I get the impression you have a point, brother-dearest,” Loki muttered. “Please make it.” He looked over his shoulder to check on you, pleased to see that your interrogation had concluded. Both you and Lady Sif were close behind, listening in on the conversation.

“The people…” Thor began. “They will not take kindly to having been deceived, whether they believe it is you who has deceived them or father. Perhaps even myself! They will think that the festival I fought so hard for was nothing but an instrument to soften the image of you, and pave the way for your eventual return.”  
“What would you have me do about that?” Loki growled. “I can give a speech if you’d like. _Fear not, Asgard, for yet again I am alive! You should know that it was all Odin’s doing, not mine and most importantly not your current King’s. Have a nice day!_ ”  
“As if they’d believe you.”   
“I was being sarcastic.”

You could tell that Thor was stressed. In fact, you’d go as far as to say that he’d been under pressure for quite some time. It was all your doing; everything from that first meeting in the woods to your escape from prison would undoubtedly have made him feel worse. Loki needed to see that.

“I know what would potentially soften the blow, if you intend to stay that is.” Thor stopped the party in its tracks and turned to face his brother. This would not be a small request; better to stand his ground.   
“I… _We_ intend to stay,” Loki said resolutely, offering you his hand. Sif watched you warily accept and be pulled to his side. Whatever type of conversation was coming – pleasant or otherwise – she could tell you didn’t want to be dragged into it. Your eyes met hers briefly, begging for help.  
“Very well,” Thor sighed. “Then I must ask that you relinquish your title as prince and any claim to the throne.”

Loki’s mouth fell open partially. He looked from his brother to the Lady Sif, who stepped to stand beside her friend.   
“You cannot be serious,” Loki scoffed.   
“Loki, I fear he is quite serious,” you whispered with a turned head.

“My… titles? What good will that do? Would you take my room from me also? My belongings?”  
“Do not blow this out of proportion, brother,” Thor sighed. “Of course not. You would still be family, just by blood rather than politically.”  
“But I’m not even that!” Loki cried, and you could feel him shaking with a rage that felt too familiar for your liking.   
“You are more than a brother to me, Loki, and you know that. I think the world of you. However, it is no secret that you’ve yearned for the throne ever since it was made obvious that you could not have it. By relinquishing any claim to it, the statement would be bold enough so as to possibly instil a little surprise in our people. Enough to cast doubt in their minds, doubt that you have malevolent intentions for returning.”

Loki argued his point for a long while, stubbornly refusing the notion that he could not be trusted with the power his former position would afford him. Eventually, you grew tired – both physically and mentally. You’d been travelling for days. Perhaps foolishly, you’d half-hoped that your arrival at the palace would afford you a bed to sleep in. The longer Loki rallied against his brother’s suggestion, the longer you were denied such comforts.   
“Give us a moment,” you eventually insisted, cutting him off. Thor raised his eyebrows in surprise. He hadn’t expected you to take his side.

Bowing their heads to you courteously, he and Sif took their leave. Loki immediately pulled away from you, folding his arms and beginning to tap his foot.   
“I hope you have not asked for a moment alone to try and convince me of this scheme. It will be in vain.”  
“Well then,” you snapped back just as sharply. “I suppose you have a choice to make. A life with your titles, but stuck in prison… or a life with me in it.”

“You’d abandon me for refusing this injustice?” He cried, feeling his fury reigniting.  
“It’s not an injustice! Can you not see that Thor’s hands are tied? A known warmonger arrives on his doorstep, despite being previously assumed dead. Family or not, if he does not act scrupulously, he will face the wrath of every single person in this kingdom. He’s doing what is best for their peace of mind – and in turn, his own. They will demand justice; they will demand that you be locked up again. Neither Thor nor I want that for you.”

Loki scoffed and rolled his eyes. So predictable! And here he’d thought you would support him. “How good of you to see my _brother’s_ perspective and not my own. Will you be dining beside him this evening or myself?”  
“Oh, stop being ludicrous!” You yelled, beginning to get a little perturbed by Loki’s childish obstinacy. Exhaustion didn’t calm your ire either.   
“I’m being ridiculous? Yet here you stand arguing that I should voluntarily surrender the titles that are the only thing I have left of my former life. My titles grant me many privileges – money, power, comfort – and they could grant the same to you.”

“Because those privileges were so incredibly helpful in that tower,” you growled. Loki fell silent at that. It was a low blow but necessary, you decided. He was acting irrationally. It was as if returning to the palace had reawakened something in him, a certain… bitterness. There were a number of times that Loki had acted hostile towards you in the Tower, but this seemed unique. A special kind of frigidity reserved for the family that had done him wrong.

Reaching out, you touched his hand tenderly and looked up at him.   
“I will not volunteer to sit beside you in a cell for a second time. Not now you finally have a chance to be free. If you would rather sit in a cage with your title for company, then so be it. But do not expect me to share that fate.”  
“I thought you loved me,” he growled, but there was no bite to it. It was an empty threat. “Is not to love someone to endure and share their hardships?”

You smiled disappointedly.   
“Yes, and I have done that. But equally, to love someone is also never to inflict hardship upon them, to protect them from it wherever possible, or do you not love me?”

Loki sighed. He knew that you were correct. Your statement was as much about your attempts to protect him as it was a plea for him not drag you to a cell. It wasn’t fair to expect you to follow him – because despite your claims, you would.   
“You… are a cruel woman, presenting me with such an ultimatum,” he sighed.   
“I think you can handle a little cruelty, Loki. You’ve dealt enough of it out.”

* * *

Sif leaned against the garden pillar as she had done earlier that afternoon. Thor stood by her side, his arms folded behind his back. Both watched as you and Loki yelled at one another for quite some time. At one point, Loki was abruptly silenced. A few mumbled words later and it appeared that you had convinced him. Thor was impressed.

“You spoke with her, Sif,” he said. “What do you make of her?”  
“I’ll admit I was sceptical,” she replied, “but her affections appear genuine. She is of sound mind, good character, and has reason to be fond of him. I believe that she is good for Loki.” Thor agreed with her appraisal. The ‘lies’ about his brother aside, he had to admit that your encounters with him had revealed a pleasant countenance.   
“With your permission, however, I’d like to remain vigilant,” Sif continued.  
“Of course. I will work from your counsel regarding the situation.”

“Thank you. In the meantime, I daresay we have nothing to fear.”


	41. Chapter 41

“I hope you’re happy,” Loki snarled as he slammed the door shut behind him. The corridor was long, wide, and empty, his voice echoing down it once or twice. A long red carpet paved the way forward and the two of you followed it a way before coming to a halt.

After you’d conveyed to Thor that Loki would agree to his terms, a citywide address was called only an hour or two later. It had, unfortunately, meant your already low energy levels were further strained, but you refused to dwell on it. Loki needed your support more than you needed a nap.

Sure enough, the crowds greeted him with shock, horror, and outrage. Despite this, however, Thor’s plan was seemingly a success. Loki was no longer a prince, but he remained a free man. After surrendering his title – and witnessing the subsequent amazement – he’d fled the stage forthwith, grabbing your hand and dragging you along behind him. The two of you had sought refuge from the gasping, gossiping crowds within the palace walls.

You took his hand and gently pressed your lips to his knuckles.  
“I understand that you are not happy, but I appreciate what you did nonetheless.”

After rolling his eyes and a sighing curtly, Loki felt his anger melt away. He resigned himself to being completely under your spell, for better or for worse.

Before he could speak any more on the matter, the hall doors were opened and shut once again, allowing Thor to enter the corridor. Loki immediately tensed, less than pleased to see the man responsible for all this commotion. You squeezed his hand; he needed to remember that Thor wasn’t the enemy.

“I hoped to catch you,” he said with a fond smile. “I don’t doubt you will want to return to your room and settle in, but I did want to thank you for what you did today.” Loki had nothing to say in response. “I appreciate it was a large thing to ask of you. However, given that you decided to surprise me with the news that you’d been alive all these years, I think we are somewhat even.”

Loki grinned wickedly.  
“Well, actually you are still in my debt if I’ve calculated correctly. It’s not my fault you wouldn’t listen to (y/n) when she tried to tell you where I was. The surprise of my return could’ve been avoided had you regarded her with more sense.” You tugged Loki’s arm sharply, hoping to curb his tongue. How rude could he be!

Thor, however, seemed pleased. Loki’s behaviour might not have been polite in your eyes, but to him it was reminiscent of the brother he’d lost, and it warmed his heart to think that the man he once knew was still in there somewhere. He preferred these bitter words to a cold silence.  
“That… is fair,” Thor smiled. “Very well, one favour, Loki. What would you have of me?”

Tapping his chin with his index finger three times, Loki tilted his head to think.  
“A favour… Very well, I would ask that you do not arrest me.”  
“Arrest you? For what?”  
“This.”

You caught onto Loki’s intentions far too late, unable to stop his fist colliding with Thor’s face.  
“That’s for letting her rot in a cell,” he snarled afterwards, stumbling back a few steps and shaking out his hand. Had it hurt that much when he’d punched him in the past?  
“Yes, I…” Thor chuckled. “I suppose that an apology is in order for that.” He rubbed his jaw painfully. Had it hurt that much when he’d been punched in the past?

“No, it isn’t!” you cried, positioning yourself between the two of them, just in case Loki intended to lash out again. “No, that doesn’t excuse what he just did. Loki, apologise right away.” With a roll of his eyes and a mischievous smile, Loki placed his arms around your shoulders and pulled you into a suffocating embrace.  
“Oh, do be quiet for five minutes,” he said, exhaling loudly as if he was finally free of a great burden. Your muffled voice could be heard protesting against Loki’s chest, demanding that you be released, as you beat his shoulders uselessly with the palms of your hands. Thor even smirked a little at the sight.

Finally, at the king’s request, Loki allowed you to breathe fresh air again, raising an eyebrow at the sight of you once he’d done so: hot-faced with rage, a scowl that could melt glass, and angry strands of hair on top of your head. You looked positively furious with him, and it was the most attractive thing he’d ever seen.

“He is completely justified,” Thor smiled. “It would’ve been a lot simpler had I investigated your claims upon their arrival. Not that it is an excuse, but my grief blinded me from the truth. I acted impulsively in warranting your arrest. For that you have my deepest and sincerest apologies.” __  
You scowled again at Loki, who suddenly looked unbearably smug.  
“We’ll discuss this later.”

Thor observed the interaction with interest, agreeing with Sif’s supposition that you were good for one another. _  
_ “If I can offer you anything by way of apology, name it,” he declared, hoping that you wouldn’t wish him the same harm that Loki had.

The prospect of the Asgard’s king owing you a favour was an interesting one. Loki could see the familiar twinkle in your eye as you pictured all the possibilities, all the things you could do with this power. If it were him, he’d have taken some time to think about what he wanted and cashed in his favour later. However, you were very decided, very soon.

“Fenrien Augustino De Antillion must be pardoned of all crimes of which he is currently convicted.” __  
“I… beg your pardon?”  
“Fenrien,” you explained, “is the man I escaped your prisons with. He is an innocent man, sort of, but I promise he’s a very decent person and has no need of further sentencing. In fact, if I could ask two things of you, I’d suggest that you arrest the man who ‘turned him in’. Apparently, he was conning people out of their money.”

“I see,” Thor sniffed, folding his arms. He’d investigate the merchant as you’d asked but… he was a little surprised by the nature of your requests. “You would use your favour with the King upon other people?” _  
_ “She… likes to help,” Loki chuckled lightly, folding his arms. “Whether people want it or not.”

That seemed to remind you of something else. _  
_ “Oh, and Brynjolf needs a new caravan with mining equipment!”

Thor laughed loudly, delighting in how bold you’d suddenly become.  
“But of course!” He beamed. So long as you remained this selfless, he was more than happy to fulfil anything you asked of him. After all, you’d done more for him than he could begin to describe.

“And Jarle, let me see,” you mumbled, tapping your chin thoughtfully. Loki rolled his eyes and scoffed. The thought of that man getting _anything_ put a sour taste in his mouth, most of all because you were still so friendly with one another. Despite knowing that he wasn’t wholly to blame for the traumas you’d suffered, Loki wasn’t about to forget the fact that he’d still been a part of Teifren’s terrible schemes. In his not-so-humble opinion, it had taken the boy far too long to realise the injustice of the situation. Regardless of whether he’d been conditioned one way or another, Loki wasn’t willing to forgive or forget. Not yet, anyway. It had nothing to do with the fact that he’d proposed to you once upon a time…

“What can I do for Jarle?” You thought aloud. Why did this require so much thought? Just thank the moron for services rendered and be done with his company! Loki’s indignation got the better of him, demanding that he make a snide comment – but he quickly wished that he’d remained quiet.

“Well, seeing as we’re giving things away to people we barely know, why not grant the village idiot a prestigious role amongst the palace? Royal architect, perhaps?”

Your eyes lit up. Your mouth fell open in a wide smile. Loki’s face fell just as fast. As dreadful realisation crept into his brother’s eyes, Thor laughed. If his intention had been to dissuade you from helping this Jarle, then he’d just failed. Miserably.

“No,” Loki quickly corrected himself, lifting a cautionary finger in front of your face. He could see the excitement that was developing, and became eager to reverse the process. “No. No, no, I was _jesting_. That fool couldn’t build a house if it was handed to him in two halves! He’s insufferable! I do not want him near this place.”

But it was too late.

Thor bowed politely and left to make the necessary arrangements. You wrapped your arms around Loki’s waist and hugged him tightly as he called out the retreating king’s name, continuing to object over your shoulder.

* * *

 

It was as if he’d never been gone. Loki’s room was exactly as it had been when he’d left. Untouched. Untampered. Whether it was simply that the door had been locked all these years, or whether Thor had specifically requested that it not be interfered with, Loki didn’t know – nor did he care. He held open the door and bid you entrance, savouring the stunned expression on your face as you walked into the room.

“This place is bigger than my whole house!” You murmured, fingers touching the edge of your mouth as you threatened to gasp. The first room within Loki’s quarters was a simple leisure space. To your left sat a grand, old fireplace, above the mantle of which was a gorgeous – and familiar – oil painting of the whole royal family. Directly opposite, the wall was completely hidden behind several slender bookshelves that stood tall and proud. Between the two walls, upon the rectangular rug that lay in the centre of the room, were two loveseats with green embroidered cushions. In fact, most of the accents in the room were some shade of green – cushions, pillows, curtains. Everything else was compiled of warm chocolate-coloured wood or a soft gold. It was… a stark contrast to the Tower. You weren’t sure how to feel about it. Everything looked so expensive!

“And… where am I staying? Will it be like this?” You asked, turning to face Loki and rubbing your hands together anxiously. He smirked and chuckled.  
“I don’t imagine they’ve sorted the particulars yet given that we’ve just arrived.” You bowed your head suddenly. Of course, they hadn’t! Foolish question. “But in the meantime,” he continued, “you could stay here.”  
“I… can?” Loki laughed lightly. He stepped closer and took one of your hands between his.  
“What in the nine made you think that you wouldn’t be welcome to do so?”  
“Gee, let me just look at the track record of your reaction to my going where I’m not supposed to.”

After assuring you that you were free to spend as much time as you wished in his quarters, you broke free of his grasp to keep exploring, opening the doors to his bedroom and jumping inside. This room was just as big as the last!

Loki followed you in… and shut the doors behind him.

You ran your fingers along the shelves that bordered the room, relics from all his expeditions and research gathering dust upon them. The far corner of the room held a pair of tall, ornate doors to the bathroom, and pushed up against the same wall was a four-poster bed. You weren’t permitted to observe any more as Loki had already crossed the room. He turned you by the hips, gathered you into his arms, and kissed you, stealing all of your breath away.

Loki waited for the surprise to wear off as he kissed you, eventually feeling your arms slide around his neck. Your hands buried themselves in his hair and he sighed into your mouth. For a moment, that’s all the two of you did. The empty room was filled only with the sound of soft moans, panting, and the shifting of fabric as your clothing moved against one another.

Eventually, he withdrew and pressed his forehead against yours. All you could do was focus on catching your breath, lidded eyes cast down as heat rushed to your face. Where had _that_ come from?  
“This is… the first time… we’ve had a moment alone,” he murmured, fully-blown pupils watching your swollen lips, spellbound. “I’ve wanted to do that for two days.”

Well then! Not about to waste another minute, you responded by raising onto the balls of your feet and kissing him again. All thoughts flew from your head, replaced simply by how he tasted on your tongue and how his body felt pressed against yours. He could feel your chest heaving against him, and embraced you even tighter, your clothing ruching as he did so. Your heart went haywire.

Loki lifted you completely off the floor and turned slowly around. When you felt him take a step in the direction of his bed, you reluctantly pulled your lips away from his.  
“Wait, wait, wait,” you insisted. He tensed noticeably, and you moved your hands either side of your face to quickly reassure him. “Let me clean up. I’ve not slept in days.”  
“You think-” He stole a fleeting kiss, “-that I care about that?”  
“Let me phrase it differently. I’ve not _bathed_ in two days. Give me a few minutes.”

* * *

 

After you’d scurried to the bathroom, Loki checked the lock on his door – once, twice, three times, just for good measure – and then, when he could think of nothing else to do, began to pace the bedroom floor. He tugged at the ends of his sleeves, threatening to loosen the stitching. He was suddenly very aware of his own body; everything he was doing, every movement. Why so jumpy? He wondered. He’d slept with women before, of course, but he’d never felt this… this… What, exactly? What was he feeling?

Nervous? Excited? Something besides desire had quickened his pulse. In the hopes of counteracting that, Loki lowered himself onto the bed. He seated himself in multiple positions, hoping for some form of nonchalance, but nothing felt right. It was infuriating! He’d never lost control of himself like this, and it was all your fault. Each of his thoughts whizzed around like an untrained puppy; not one of them could be convinced to slow long enough that he could figure out how he felt. Rolling his shoulders and clearing his throat, Loki lay down on the bed and put his head on the pillow. Passion made his heart pound; he couldn’t wait for this. All he wanted was you. _Relax_ , he reminded himself. _Don’t get overexcited. Just try to relax…_

* * *

 

 _Relax,_ you told yourself. _Don’t get overexcited. Just try to relax._ But this was Loki, your warring head replied. _Loki_. You were going to… to… with Loki! It all seemed so sudden, so soon. Your thoughts were cast back to events over the last year. Friendly, yes. Intimate… less so. As long as you’d known one another, you’d never imagined it reaching this point until very, very recently.

You shook your head fervently. Forget these anxieties, you begged yourself, as you stripped the outer garments of your clothing off. You were grateful to discover that most of the muck from the last two days –blood, moisture, and soil – had attached itself solely to your outer clothes. As a result, by the time you’d stripped down to a simple underdress, you were considerably cleaner in appearance. The material was a pale peach colour, with three-quarter length sleeves, and soft cotton fabric that dropped from a high empire line. The thin material left enough to the imagination whilst keeping you fully-clothed… for now.

You leaned over the basin and splashed two handfuls of water onto your face. The returned water was a horrible greyed crimson that left a small foggy trail before it trickled down the drain. You groaned. Disgusting. Loki’s blood, the melted tower, the soil of the earth you’d been sleeping on… The last week had painted a picture on your face. You could wash it from your skin, but there would be a mark on your soul for some time to come.

No, you insisted. No, you couldn’t focus on the sorrow. If you did, you’d drive yourself mad, and you had to do better than that. Instead, you forced yourself to think of Loki. Your saviour. He was waiting for you in the next room over. A free man, and one who loved you no less. You took a deep breath, bit your lip in excited anticipation, and returned to the bedroom, where you found your ‘saviour’ snoozing peacefully.

Judging by the way he lay, Loki had fallen asleep quite by accident. One of his legs hung over the edge of the mattress, his foot on the floor, whilst the other stretched fully along the length of the bed. His hands were clasped over his stomach, and his head was propped up on a pillow. You could picture him settling down to await your return, only to close his eyes irrevocably.

You smiled softly. How ironic. You supposed you deserved this though, given the time you’d dropped off as he bared his soul to you. Loki mumbled something incomprehensible and rolled onto his side, pulling his leg up onto the bed simultaneously. He was completely out. The sight of him sleeping, so innocent and calm, made you feel warm inside.

Had you not already been so sleepy, watching him would’ve made you so. With a great yawn, you stretched and sat down on the edge of the bed. Feeling the mattress dip, Loki was awoken, and sat bolt upright, blinking the sleep from his eyes. If he was trying to convince you that he’d not fallen asleep, he was failing.  
“I’m awake,” he swore, wiping spittle from the side of his mouth. “I’m awake.”

“I can see that,” you chuckled, kicking your legs up and over. You crawled behind Loki and sat up on your knees, placing your hands on his shoulders, and beginning to rub. Loki blinked with surprise. A massage? How interesting…

It started slowly, until the pleasure set in and his spine relaxed. He’d not realised he was so tense. With a guttural groan, Loki let his head fall back until it rested on your shoulder, finding himself completely at ease. His eyes slid shut again and you allowed him to lean completely into you. When his back was fully against your chest, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pressed a soft kiss onto his cheek.

Loki turned his head, and met your mouth with his own, kissing you long and slow. You let him.

Eventually, his desire was reinvigorated, and the next thing you knew, your back was against the mattress and Loki was climbing on top of you to deliver a kiss from above. This time, however, you pushed back against his shoulders.  
“You and I–” His lips moved swiftly to your neck and stole away your words for a second, “–both know that this isn’t… isn’t happening.”

With a raised eyebrow that said otherwise, Loki looked at you from under lidded eyelashes. Just for a moment, you considered relenting; you considered letting him do as he pleased. However, you forced yourself to be reasonable. As much as you wanted him, sleep was far more attractive to you right now.  
“I’m not so tired anymore,” he promised, covering your mouth with his, and causing your back to arch. However, you forced yourself to pull away one last time, ignoring the protest of the body that longed for him. Here was this man, who you adored completely, leaning over you with tousled hair, dark eyes, and red, hot breaths. He was dripping with lust… and you were turning him down. What were you thinking?

“But _I_ am tired,” you sighed, stroking his cheek fondly. “I’ve not had a bed for two days, and I’m equally as desperate to feel cleaner than I do currently.” With a disappointed sigh, Loki bowed his head. His hair tickled the skin along your collarbone as he rested his forehead on your chest. Eventually, he kicked his leg back over, and flopped onto the bed on his back.  
“I’m sorry,” you said, leaning over and resting your chin on his shoulder. He rolled his eyes and bid you to leave with an affectionate smile.

The more you thought about it, the more the idea of a bath appealed to you. The faucet spluttered for a moment or two, before crystalline water gushed into the elegant tub. The huge basin was a quadrant shape, dug into the floor with a shallow set of steps along the curved border. Frankly it was more like a small swimming pool than a bath.

Whilst the hot water flower freely, you made to derobe – until you realised you had no bedclothes to change into. Nothing to change into, in fact. Nothing clean. You chewed the inside of your cheek for a moment, until an idea sprung into mind. It was risky but… potentially amusing.

You peered out from between the bathroom doors and saw that Loki had seated himself on the edge of the bed, facing away. The wardrobe was straight ahead of you. All it would require was a little stealth, and… You held your breath, crept back into the room, and reached into the cherry-oak cupboard.

Loki, meanwhile, stretched his arms into the air and pulled the tension from his back. You pulled out a large, cotton shirt in a warm shade of green. Did the man like no other colour? Not about to quarrel, you closed the wardrobe and snuck back towards the bathroom, pausing only when Loki pulled his own shirt over his head.

At the sight of his bare back, you chastised yourself _seriously_ for being so damn responsible. When you’d first encountered Loki, wiry, weak, and frail, you’d never have attributed him with having so much muscle. Where his brother’s arms seemed to bulge, Loki’s muscles were lean and refined – not unpleasantly either. The things you would do…

 _There’ll be plenty of time for that_ after _you’ve rested_ , you scolded yourself. After watching him for a second longer, you returned to the bath that was finally full.  

* * *

 

Loki licked his finger and turned the page of his book casually. Whilst you were busy in the bathroom, he’d taken it upon himself to light a candle – which now rested on the bedside chest – and had even picked up some reading material from his collection, determined to stay awake until you returned this time. He’d propped up a few pillows, so he could sit against the headboard as he read.

At the sound of the bathroom door opening, however, he peered over the edge of his book and watched you waltz into the room. He raised a singular eyebrow at your apparel.  
“That does not belong to you,” he smirked, returning his eyes to his literature as you carried your dirty dress in and dumped it in the corner. You fully intended to deal with it in the morning.  
“I know that it is not mine. However, I do not currently have any clean clothes to my name.”

“That does not mean you can pilfer mine,” he chuckled, promptly closing his book and tucking it between the mattress and bedframe. “I would ask that you take off the shirt and return my property immediately.”  
“Yes, I’m sure you’d like me to take off this shirt, wouldn’t you?” You simpered, shooting him a filthy glance over your shoulder. He grinned.  
“It was worth a shot.”

Once you’d finished with your ‘laundry’, you lowered yourself onto the edge of the bed. Loki straightened his pillows, fluffing them slightly once they were flat against the bed again. Before he lay down, however, his eyes fell upon you. Reserved. Unmoving.  
“You told me that you were exhausted,” he said softly. “Don’t tell me that you’ve suddenly changed your mind.”

“It’s… No, it’s not that. I just…” Your head sunk a little lower.  
“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Doesn’t this feel… _weird_ to you?” You asked, marginally turning your head. “We were undoubtedly close before, but not to this extent. How many times did I refuse to sleep in the same bed as you? Yet now it’s almost… almost… Expected isn’t the right word, but it’s close.”

“I can’t say I wouldn’t be disheartened but… I could always request that a guest room be made up, if you would be more comfortable,” Loki offered, unable to hide the misery laden in his voice. You turned away from him and sighed, loud and long.

“I don’t want that,” you eventually said with a remorseful smile. You forced yourself to slip under the covers next to him, leaning on your pillow so that you wouldn’t be the first to lie down. “I’m just curious, I suppose. Does it not feel strange to you, being here with me like this?”

 _That’s_ what had you so nervous? The fact that this was all so new? Had you forgotten that this was new to him too?

With a small grin, Loki turned and blew out the candle on the bedside chest. It plunged the room into darkness and encouraged rest. The minute your head hit the pillow, you felt suddenly at ease. Calm. Relaxed. And very, _very_ tired. The tranquil sensation was tainted with adrenaline when you felt Loki’s arm snake around your hips and tug you closer to him. His chest pressed against your back – the hammering of his heartbeat almost as fast as your own – and his breath tickled the back of your neck. Your stomach turned a cartwheel with elation. _  
_ “No,” he finally yawned as his eyes flickered shut. “This does not feel strange to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart by [@loser-magoo](https://loser-magoo.tumblr.com/post/169457800411/agh-i-made-this-one-larger-than-the-rest-and-now) and [@awkward-fangirl-artist](https://awkward-fangirl-artist.tumblr.com/post/169974555652/l-this-is-what-he-would-do-to-dwarf-au):  
>   
> 


	42. Chapter 42

Ever since he’d left the tower, Loki had felt… different. It was like something had been resting on his soul before; not painful, and barely obvious, but its absence was noticeable. Though it had no name, Loki knew what it was. The curse. Like an invisible shackle on his heart that had made hunger no more, and exhaustion a thing of the past, it had sat dormant in his heart. It was weighty and yet light enough to forget about after a time. You’d liberated him from that. He was free to crave food again, to feel tired, and be unwell if he was so unlucky.

As such, when Loki awoke the next morning, he found himself to be so incredibly rested that it was near ecstasy. It was almost as if he hadn’t truly slept in years… The sensation he succumbed to as he awoke, and sunlight streamed into his vision, was pure tranquillity. The sheets around his body were snug and comforting; the pillow under his head like a cloud. He simply hadn’t appreciated the quality of the bedspread when he’d lived here in the past. Now, however, he knew that he’d never sleep in better. The Tower had given him that, if nothing else.

His pleasant mood was only sullied when he rolled over to find his bed empty.

He sighed and sat up sluggishly. He scratched the back of his head once or twice, waiting for some sign of you to reveal itself to him. Sure enough, he heard your voice on the other side of the bedroom door; in the main room. He sighed yet again.   
“Woman, what _are_ you up to?”

Opening the door just a crack, Loki spotted you, still in his green undershirt, talking with the maid. Or rather, talking _at_ her. The poor woman was sweeping around the room with a broom and pan whilst you followed her closely, offering to move furniture or lift the rug. Each time you were told that she needed no assistance.

As unsurprising as the sight was, it still amused Loki, and he found the corners of his mouth tugging upwards.  
“I was wondering if I could ask you something,” you said when you finally realised that you could be of no use to the maid.   
“If you are quick about it, yes.”  
“Where would I go about cleaning some clothes? What I arrived in yesterday is slightly mucky.”

Turning to face you, the woman dusted her hands upon her apron. She was a stout woman of short stature, curly brown hair scraped into a messy bun atop her head. When she looked up at you with her now-clean hands on her hips, she resembled a teapot that was coming to boil.   
“Any laundry I will take to the washrooms for you, ma’am.”  
“Oh no, that’s not necessary,” you replied, oblivious to the growing look of frustration on the maid’s face. “If you’d just point me in the right direction, I’ll bring it myself and save you the trip.”

* * *

 Loki stepped away from the gap in the doorway as you approached it. When you opened the left door, he leaned back against the right, his arms folded and a smug expression upon his face.   
“Let the maid take the laundry,” he insisted, startling you into whirling around. Clutching the shirt fabric over your chest, you caught your breath before smiling.   
“I don’t mind doing it,” you said. “She probably does this sort of thing all day.”  
“Yes, exactly. It’s her job.”   
“That’s easy for you to say.”

When you made to turn away from him and collect your clothing from the corner, Loki took your hands and tugged you back in front of him. He chuckled; was he really going to have to explain this to you? It was almost trivial to him. Yet another stunning reminder of the two different worlds that you’d come from…   
“Allow me to rephrase,” he said, lifting both of your hands and holding them to his chest. “It’s her livelihood. This is what she does, not just to make a living, but because it’s her life. All the servants are incredibly skilled and competent. If you take their responsibilities away from them it’s almost… How do I put this? It’s almost insulting. Belittling. You’re taking away from them the thing that they are best at, that they’ve trained to do.”

Your shoulders slumped, and your mouth fell open.   
“But… I just–”  
“Stop helping,” Loki commanded, moving his hands to your cheeks and smiling affectionately. Always so meddlesome, he thought to himself. “Not everybody needs it.”

Loki supervised from the bedroom doorway as you handed over your dirty clothes to the maid. She curtsied to you, bowed her head to Loki, and swiftly left the room. Even from looking at the back of your head, he could see you were warring with your urges.   
“I don’t like this,” you grumbled, flopping into the nearby sofa and stretching your legs across the length of it. “The servants, the grandeur; all of it. I am perfectly capable of doing my own washing.”

“Good morning to you too,” he muttered, exiting the entryway and pushing your feet onto the floor so that he could sit beside you. You bit your lip apologetically and pecked his cheek.   
“I’m sorry. Good morning.”

“Perhaps mistakenly, I thought most women dreamt of living a life of luxury.” _  
_ “I suppose I’m just accustomed to my independence,” you huffed melodramatically, spinning around and placing your head in his lap, your legs dangling over the arm of the chair. He began to run his fingers through your hair. “Back in the village I was considered less than worthless. I’d have settled for just a little recognition. But this? Being waited on hand and foot? It’s… too much of a step in the other direction. Way too much.”

“I didn’t take you as one to have a problem with accepting help. You dish enough of it out.”  
“Oh, please, you know me better than that. It’s not helping when I do it, is it? I’m a control freak.”

Loki leaned down and pressed his lips softly to yours.   
“I know this, and I love you.” You frowned, and rolled your eyes.   
“Nonetheless, I don’t know what to do with myself now. I don’t have to go foraging or hunting anymore. What am I supposed to do all day?”

Loki broke into a filthy grin which he attempted to hide with the back of his hand, turning away so you wouldn’t see the shine in his eyes. He cleared his throat once or twice before speaking.   
“I mean… I can think of _something_ we could do.”

It took a moment for his meaning to settle in.

“Seriously?” You scoffed, sitting up with an incredulous smile on your face. “Still? I’m hardly… dressed for the occasion.”  
“You are wearing nothing but one of my own shirts. In what world is that not completely intoxicating?” He chuckled as you sat yourself next to him. He slipped his hand around your waist and began to draw circles into your lower back. He could feel your spine curve at his touch. “I’m just a man. You can’t tease me this much and expect me to resist forever.”

“Can I get that in writing? The great and powerful Loki finally admits to being nothing more than a humble man.”  
“You continue to mock me,” Loki chuckled, “but I am quite serious. I find myself nothing more than a man in love with a woman when we’re together.”

Heat flooded your face and you turned away from Loki with a grin, biting your lip until it threatened to bleed.   
“If there’s something wrong, tell me. I want you to want this too,” he proclaimed, suddenly nervous that he’d overstepped. He relaxed a little, though, when you laughed lightly and ran a hand through your hair.   
“Would you believe me if I said I was nervous?”

Loki smirked. With a solitary finger, he pulled your chin back towards him, tilted it up, and planted a soft sweet kiss upon your mouth. When he felt your body rise in earnest, he pulled away.   
“We’ll take this slow,” he whispered.


	43. Chapter 43

Slender fingers grazed the skin of your neck, spreading a chill through your throat, as Loki’s hands came to rest upon it. Your mind was wiped of anything but him.

His hands.

His pulse.

His lips.

Oh, his lips. Loki kissed you like a man undone. He was coming apart at the seams, exuding love and desire. There was an emotion behind every kiss that landed upon your mouth. Affection. Adulation. Devotion. Desperation. His body yearned for you, the palpable pounding of his heart making that much clear.

You met each of his advances eagerly, even as they grew in intensity. His right hand moved up under your jaw, stroking your cheek, whilst his left rested on your collarbone, thumbing the edge of your – _his_ – shirt tentatively. The thought of you in his clothes wasn’t letting Loki pace himself very easily. God, the things he wanted to do to you, that he’d been waiting to do to you.

Your hands rested on his thighs, having slowly crawled up from his knees over the course of a few minutes. Every so often, when your mind got ahead of itself, your fingers would curl slightly, digging into him and eliciting the tiniest of whimpers. Each noise that he made, every movement, sent electricity coursing through you. You just couldn’t focus. You wanted all of him at once.

Eventually Loki’s lips trailed lower, showering kisses along your jaw and eventually beginning to work at your neck. It left your mouth free for every deep breath, moan, and sigh that he drew from your lungs, the sound of them fuelling his passion.

He’d left you weak. Defenceless. It was almost too easy for him to climb on top of you. When he leaned forward, he felt your body move in kind. Soon enough your back was against the arm of the sofa, holding his cheeks as he kissed you from above. Loki paused for only a moment, gripping the furniture either side of your head and lifting his leg over your waist so that his knees were either side of your hips. Once he was comfortably straddling you, Loki returned his lips to your neck and felt you curve underneath him. His stomach knotted pleasurably as your heaving chest hit his.

This was it, he thought to himself with giddy pleasure. This was it. He’d lain awake for months, dreaming of this moment, aching for you, and now his fantasies were realising themselves – or at least they had been, until the door swung open and Fenrien swept into the room with a sing-song smile on his face.  
“Why, hello beautiful peop– Oh!” You wrenched your lips free of Loki’s and instantly turned your head away. Heat hit your face like a flash-flood. To say you were in a precarious position was an understatement.

However, Loki made no move to correct himself, remaining completely still aside from his head, which turned to face Fenrien with deathly slowness. Loki’s hair was ragged, and fell either side of his face in messy strands. His pupils were also blown wide, his lips were rosy, and his breathing was a tad… erratic. If that hadn’t given away what the two of you had been up to, the way you lay between his legs, refusing to make eye-contact and covering your face with your hands, would have done.

It would seem that Fenrien had interrupted something, and the premise amused him to no end.

Fenrien folded his arms and leaned casually against the doorframe, delighting in seeing Loki’s mouth part, baring his teeth furiously. He flashed his most winning smile.  
“I see they let _you_ back into the city,” Loki snarled.  
“Indeed, they did. My criminal record was expunged, and I am once more a free man!”  
“Oh, _marvellous_. Don’t let the palace doors hit you on the way ou-”  
“In fact, I came to thank the good lady responsible for my freedom.”

“She’s… a little… tied up… at the moment,” Loki panted, rage and pent-up arousal beginning to shorten his breath. You balled yourself up a little tighter, unable to fathom how embarrassed you were. At least 90% of you wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole.  
“Well, not yet, she’s not–”  
“Fenrien Augustino De Antillion, if you are still stood in that doorway in 3 seconds I will personally see to it that you are arrested for a second time and thrown somewhere so horrific that you will beg on your knees for the prisons of Asgard.”

 

Fenrien had not long been wandering the corridor away from Loki’s quarters when he was joined by another. He, Brynjolf, and Jarle had been picked up the night before outside the city walls and escorted to the palace forthwith. Thor himself had accompanied the royal guard, taking the opportunity to meet his guests and explain exactly what favours had been called in on their behalf.

Brynjolf was indeed to get a new carriage – hand carved from the finest wood in the palace’s possession. Fenrien had not only been pardoned of all crimes, but also invited to attend the trial of the merchant who had wrongly accused him, just as soon as the outstanding warrant yielded an arrest.

As for Jarle, who now walked casually beside Fenrien, he’d been invited to meet personally with Thor and his council, where his suitability for the role of royal architect would be assessed. If that news alone hadn’t shocked him enough, his jaw had dropped substantially lower upon discovering that it had been _Loki’s_ idea to put him forward for the job!

“If I didn’t know any better,” Jarle said as he adjusted the sash around his shoulders. “I’d say you looked incredibly smug.”  
“I don’t know what you mean, my friend,” Fenrien replied, biting his lip. “On a completely unrelated note, are you thinking of visiting our mutual friend today?”  
“I might’ve been, yes.”  
“Then a word of warning: perhaps wait a few hours?”

Jarle didn’t miss the sparkle in his companion’s eye as he spoke.  
“Why? What did you do? Is she alright?”  
“Oh, fear not, she is being _most_ taken care of. I believe that she and her dearest lover are about to partake in some...” Fenrien chuckled lowly, feeling quite amused with himself. “Some… _amorous gymnastics_.”

Rolling his eyes, Jarle returned his attention to the golden sash he wore.  
“That’s just filthy,” he sighed loudly, attempting to fasten the silver brooch on his shoulder. The maids of the palace had been kind enough to fill his wardrobe with formal attire for the interview, but Jarle had absolutely no idea how to work any of it. He’d selected a dashing ensemble, comprised of a buckled red blazer and tan trousers, complimented by a golden sash which snaked from his waist to his shoulders.

Fenrien swerved in front of Jarle, forcing the latter to stop abruptly. With nimble fingers, he pulled the sash into the correct position, so it sat comfortably, and clasped the brooch tightly to hold everything in place.  
“Relax,” Fen beamed as he brushed dust from the man’s shoulders. “You look fantastic.”

* * *

 

Loki sighed curtly. He dropped his head and rested it against your forehead, his eyelashes tickling the tips of your fingers as you continued to cover your face. It was over, he thought dejectedly. It was over, just like that. He could feel the embarrassment coming off of you in waves, the discomfort. As he slowly clambered off of you and got to his feet, he smiled sadly. Maybe next time.

Given his apparent failure, Loki was admittedly shocked when he heard you begin to laugh.

“I can’t believe he just stood there,” you giggled, moving your hands from your eyes to cover your mouth as it curled into an incredulous smile. Loki blinked quickly.  
“He’s a buffoon and I– I will see to it that he is suitably punished for his insolence.”

You hummed amusedly and chewed your thumb, turning your head away to look out the distant window for a second.  
“Well, if we’re going to do this, we can’t stay in here then,” you smirked, keeping your eyes low. You didn’t intend to embarrass yourself further by showing Loki how much you wanted him. He’d be insufferable otherwise.

“You… still want to? I feared you would be spooked by the interruption.” Biting your lip, you stood up, sauntered closer, and pressed your lips to his.  
“Oh,” he murmured softly, with a pleased grin. You slipped your hand into his and began to step backwards, pulling him along. He was more than happy to be led as long as you made for the bedroom.

As soon as the golden doors had clicked shut, you turned and slid the bolt across. No more interruptions. This was it, you told yourself. Loki cupped your face and kissed you sweetly. His giddiness had settled a little. He could take it slow now, knowing that he’d get everything he wanted.

This was it, he told himself.

The growing ferocity of Loki’s kissing forced your back against the door. You clutched the material of his shirt eagerly, holding his body against yours, and matched his fervour as you kissed him back. Slowly his hands moved from your face to your shoulders, and then gradually to your hips.  There they lingered for a moment, touching you, taking you in, familiarising themselves with the shape of your body.

Eventually, his right hand snaked around your waist whilst his left gripped your upper thigh. Loki lifted you clean off the ground and pulled your legs around him. You smiled into his mouth as he turned and made for the bed. He made you feel giddy inside. He made you feel good. The added height let you kiss him from above, which you happily obliged.

Each peck was small, and soft. You let your teeth linger once or twice, tugging at his bottom lip, and the way he hummed each time indicated that he enjoyed it.

When he reached the bedside, rather than throwing you upon it, Loki bent over, and set you down gently. He drank in the sight of you, lay before him, waiting and wanting. If he’d been calmer before, he was feeling his excitement return forthwith. How was it that you were doing this to him so easily? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so drunk upon a person; you were like a narcotic. He wanted you so much. He wanted to _do_ so much. It was a craving. An addiction he couldn’t shake.

“Are you going to stand there all day?” You asked, as Loki’s eyes fixated upon you. Wherever his gaze fell, you could feel your skin burst into flame. He chuckled.  
“And what would you do if I said I was?”  
“I don’t know. I’d probably get bored after a while. A little hungry…”

With a charmed smile, Loki bent down again and covered his mouth with your own. This kiss felt different to the last. It was long and slow. His lips captured yours with a deliberate, wet hunger. He was desperate for you, devouring you. Your back arched as you sat up to meet him–

–until a firm hand pressed down on your sternum, prying your lips from his and making your head hit the mattress. Loki looked at you for a second time. Desire fell from you like morning dew would drop from the branches of a gorgeous silver birch.  
“You look,” he murmured, planting a gentle kiss on your collarbone between words, “better than anything I’ve ever eaten.”

You bit down upon a bashful smile. It was admittedly still a little strange to hear such words coming out of _his_ mouth, but you were too far gone to care at this point. His lips paid careful attention to your body, peppering the warm skin of your neck with cool kisses.

They moved slowly lower and your heart rate rocketed suddenly. When his mouth met the fabric of your clothing, his eyes turned upwards, peering at you from under long lashes, and observing your reaction.  
“You can still say no,” he whispered.

Rolling your eyes, you sat up on the edge of the bed and grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling his mouth onto yours and kissing him as hard as you were able. He stole away your breath. Your growing desperation was obvious.  
“Don’t make me beg for it,” you scolded, but his eyes twinkled.  
“And if that’s exactly what I want?”  
“Then you’ll be disappointed.”

Loki chuckled warmly, wondering just what he could do to change your mind. With a wicked grin, he pulled his shirt over his head, delighting in the way your eyes immediately wandered. His time in solitude may have thinned him significantly but thanks to the nourishment you’d provided in the last year, it hadn’t lost its build. He was himself again. Lean; firm; muscular; and didn’t you know it.

“You know what I want to hear,” he purred, delighting in how disorderly you’d suddenly become. With no shirt collar to grab anymore, your hands flitted between touching his shoulders and touching his abdomen, neither of which you felt brave enough to do. Every inch of him was cool to the touch, despite how he obviously burned.

Shaking away your doubt, your fear, you gripped his belt and pulled his hips closer.  
“Loki,” you growled, and he raised an eyebrow. “I want you. Right here, right now.”

With his hands on your thighs, Loki manoeuvred you onto the bed. He positioned your head between the pillows and pulled the shirt from your body. Once it was discarded upon the floor, he returned his attention to your lips, kissing them until they were swollen. One hand gripped the hair on the back of your head, holding you firmly in place, whilst the other one trailed a finger up your ribcage and down again.

Goosebumps prickled along your side and Loki smiled into your mouth when he felt them. His pace was quickening, making his enthusiasm clear.  
“I don’t… I don’t think I can wait any longer,” he groaned, moving his mouth to your neck as he spoke.  
“So don’t.”

Loki looked up at you one last time; you kissed him quickly, wanting to reassure him. In one look you entreated him to keep going. With agonising slowness, he sat up on his knees, positioned between your legs, and loosened his belt, sliding it out of the waistband and throwing it aside. His eyes never left yours, and finally it sunk in. For all the confidence and the teasing and the lust, Loki was still nervous.

You could feel him shaking as his hand touched the inside of your thigh timidly. His fingertips were as cold as the rest of him and you shivered at the sensation, not that it helped to calm his nerves.  
“I have no intention of hurting you, so… you must talk to me, okay?”  
“I promise.”

After an affirming nod, Loki leaned in for a final time… and touched you. Really _touched_ you. The gentle gasp that escaped you was just enough incentive for him to keep going. He swapped from his fingers to his palm, cupping your vagina completely and beginning to knead.

The pleasure was subtle at first, inclining and increasing with each motion. He was preparing you, playing you like an instrument; readying you to sing. You could feel your stomach turning delightfully. His hands were working magic upon you. A little breathy moan burst free of your mouth, turning the air blue.

“Is this… alright?” He asked, with a reluctant chuckle when he saw you writhe a little.  
“It’s… yes, yes, this is…”  
“Good,” he smiled, leaning over and pressing a kiss upon your knee.

If Loki’s intention had been to get you to sweat, he’d succeeded. The longer he massaged between your legs, the more your found yourself coming undone. It was no secret to him either. Loki felt the arousal pooling between your legs and it stirred something in him that wasn’t easily ignored. He removed his hand, forcing himself to ignore the whimper it elicited from you.

Loki shuffled until he was once again lay over the top of you, his lips gently grazing your own and his hair tickling the sides of your face. His hips were aligned with yours, and it only took a moment for him to align elsewhere too. He placed his right hand upon your hip, and slid the other behind your neck, kissing you softly before he pushed himself inside you.

Immediately he felt you tense and slowed. Your hands rushed to his back, fingers digging into his back. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it did put him a little on edge.  
“Are you-”  
“Keep going,” you grunted, and he reluctantly obliged.

Eventually, Loki was buried completely inside of you, stuffed to the hilt and completely high on the sensation. His breathing was as laboured as yours and he felt a guttural grunt break free of his mouth before he could stop it. Your eyes had at some point squeezed shut, and your teeth were bared. With a single finger, Loki brushed a little hair out of your eyes and ran his finger down your cheek.  
“If this is too much then-”

“Fuck,” you whispered, cutting him off and stilling his tongue. Whoosh. Any cognitive thoughts left his head like a gust of wind. Gone. The sight of you coming completely apart beneath him was enough to drive him wild. Every cell of blood seemed to rush south, and exhilaration threatened to conquer him yet again.

Taking a risk, Loki pulled out a little. He’d only moved an inch before he pressed deeper into you. Once again, you tensed but noticeably less, baring your teeth and growling more profanity. It went straight to Loki’s head.

Each soft thrust bought more foul language to your lips, and Loki relished the sound. He delighted in every aspect of your moving, moaning body. The way you began to writhe beneath him as his thrusts grew more intense; the sound of you losing all ability to form coherent words, resorting to soft pants, moans, and sighs; the smell of the sweat on your skin, that intoxicated him and fuelled the fire in his belly.

Soon Loki had all but lost control. He said your name three times: firstly, as a mumbled grunt, incoherent and involuntary. Then as a breathless plea, begging for sweet release. Finally, a shout. Unreserved. Unadulterated. The hand on your hip moved suddenly, gripping your thigh tightly as Loki scrambled to plunge even deeper each time.

The soundtrack of your sex was not reserved to one party either. As the slapping of Loki’s hips against you had grown in speed, your vocal reactions had grown equally in volume. You knew for a fact that long, crimson marks would litter Loki’s back by the time you were done.

 _His back_ ; you remembered seeing it when you’d snuck out of the bathroom last night. Strong; shapely; broad. He was beautiful then, and by the nine if he wasn’t the most incredible thing to look at now… His face was a mere inch from yours, moving and bucking with every lunge of his hips. His thin mouth hung open as his lungs begged for breath. His eyes were closed so that he could focus. Strands of ebony hair dripped with the sweat from his brow, each fibre shivering. His nose threatened to knock against yours more than once as the ferocity of his actions made him clumsy and brought him closer.

Desire was an understatement for what you currently suffered. It was lust, in its purest and most agonising form; it was molten and scorching to the touch. Every inch of your flesh yearned, ached, and burned for the man who currently made love to you.

Loki felt your nails begin to grasp his shoulder blades a little tighter, and he knew you were close. You tried to tell him as much, but he cut you off, capturing your lips in a ravenous kiss. When you came, he wanted to know about it from your body, not your voice. He wanted to feel you implode. He wanted to experience you shattering around him, and feel every sound of it in his bones.

It began as a whimper; there was a twisting in your stomach that moved slowly south, and you whimpered when it arose. How quickly that whimper turned into a moan, however. Loki grinned wickedly when he felt your breathing quicken. He sped up in kind. You grunted once, twice, three times over, until you once again were capable of the spoken word.

“Fuck,” you whispered. “Fuck, Loki. Fuck.”  
“Keep saying it,” he demanded, moving his lips to your neck and nibbling on your collarbone. Your head fell back.  
“ _Fuck_ , Loki, I can feel it coming. I’m going to… to…”

Nails. That was all Loki could think of. Your sentence was punctuated with the fingernails that drove themselves deeper into his skin. You cried his name over and over, each time louder than the last as he plunged into you; harder, deeper, faster.

Finally, you came undone. Unravelling at the very seams, you spilled yourself entirely and felt your back arch involuntarily, curving like a swan’s neck. Loki wasn’t far behind, the sight of you gasping his name with pleasure enough to drive him mad. He continued to fuck you as best he could, despite being completely inebriated over the wet sounds the two of you now made.

His thrusts grew sloppy, but Loki sustained his pace. Beads of sweat trickled down your temples. You turned your head left and right, over and over, unsure how long you’d be able to last if he kept this up. Pleasure ripped through you, and persisted painfully as Loki kept going. Everything was sensitive after your climax. You felt everything twice as hard and it was growing to hurt.

You gritted your teeth again, clutching at the bed sheets to try and cope. You felt your insides tighten around him – and that did it. At last Loki was granted release, swiftly pulling out before he could lose himself to you entirely. He threw his head back, looking up to the headboard as he felt himself erupt; the moan he released was like a roaring lion. Low, and loud. It made your stomach jump.

With his head up, your eyes were drawn down his throat to his heaving chest. Your own breaths were short and deep, and for a moment the two of you lay there catching your breath. All of your muscles were beginning to ache. His body seemed to quiver as the adrenaline dissipated and the exhaustion set in.

Loki let out a breathy laugh, and dropped his head so that his forehead met yours.  
“Are you… alright?” He asked. You bit your lip and nodded.  
“Are… you?”

After a tiny, tired grin, Loki kissed your cheek, long and slow.  
“I’ve never been better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart by [@losermagoo](https://loser-magoo.tumblr.com/post/170824833511/littlemisssyreid-i-know-its-not-my-usual-digital):  
> 


	44. Chapter 44

Loki didn’t remember falling asleep, but it didn’t surprise him in the slightest. He was spent, in every sense. Completely exhausted. He felt empty and whole at the same time.

When his eyes fluttered open, his gaze rested for a moment on the ceiling above him, ornate decoration blurred by the gossamer curtains that stretched along the borders of his four-poster bed. He turned his head slowly to the left. You were also snoozing softly, your back and your hair being the only things he could see. Sunshine trickled through the window behind you, bathing your body in a warm light and illuminating your silhouette in a gentle golden glow. The thin bedsheet was draped over your body from just below your shoulders all the way down to your ankles. He too had, at some point, slipped under the covers where he could feel the warmth radiating off of you in waves.

Loki sighed. Content was an understatement. As he leaned forward and pressed his lips to your shoulder blade, elation seeped into his bones. You stirred slightly at the sensation, mumbling something incomprehensible, but remained asleep. He imagined that you were even more drained than he. The thought tugged a naughty grin onto his lips.

Loki rolled back over, sitting up and kicking his legs over the edge of the mattress in a swift motion. Immediately, his thighs groaned with a dull pain. They begged him to slow, to give them a minute’s rest. Images sprung to mind recreating the cause of his discomfort. What a morning…

When he heard the main doors to his quarters open and shut in the next room over, his attention was drawn. Loki dressed swiftly, pulling on a pair of brown cotton trousers and an emerald dressing gown which he tied loosely around his waist before exiting. Gertha, the maid whom you’d met earlier that morning, had returned with a breakfast tray. It confirmed Loki’s suspicions that you couldn’t have been asleep long.

Gertha bowed when she saw him, curtseying low but fast.   
“Where would you have me set this down?” She asked him as he pulled the robes a little tighter over his bare chest. His eyes were examining the food upon it – fruits, and pastries, sat alongside a beautiful teapot and cups, one of which was slightly chipped.   
“Nowhere. I shall take it to the bedroom.”  
“Very good.”

Once Loki had accepted the tray, he turned towards the bedroom door – and froze. His grip on the tray’s handles tightened a little as his sudden, intrusive thought danced on the tip of his tongue.   
“Is… something the matter?” The maid asked, clasping her hands in front of her apron politely.

Gertha had not worked at the palace long, a few years at best. However, she was one of the few that knew her work was of unparalleled quality. She’d not have been assigned to his highness’ brother if it were not the case. Even as a child, she’d been a perfectionist, as one often was forced to be when vying for the attention of a single parent with 6 children. Gertha’s sisters may have shared her ambitiousness, but they lacked her drive. Whereas they now worked in roles of varying success – her youngest sibling was head chef in the household of a common noble – only Gertha had made it to the palace.

Loki and his crimes had been well before her time. She was aware of them, but cared little of the tales. What had her timid was that she knew nothing of his character, his preferences, nor his demeanour. He would know as little about her (and subsequently her skill) as she did him. The acquaintance would be reserved for the foreseeable future, she wagered.

“You’ve met her,” Loki commented blandly. “What do you make of her?”  
“I don’t understand the question, sir.”  
“You may drop the pretences; I don’t doubt you have heard that I am no longer of royal title. You can abandon the overwhelming civility. I simply am curious as to your… initial impression. If you are quick of mind, you’ll have noticed she does not exactly run in noble circles. What say you? Will she be comfortable here? Will she fit in?”

Gertha chewed her lip. This was an opportunity. Loki would no doubt remember whatever answer she gave to this question. Best to make it count.   
“You desire my… honest opinion?”  
“I do. As someone who knows neither of us; as someone who can speak without bias.”

The maid sighed curtly.   
“Honestly, sir? No. She does not fit in here. It is, as you have observed, quite obvious that she is cut from a very different cloth.”

Loki’s head bowed slightly, and he nodded gently, seeming to realise this.   
“However,” Gertha continued, recapturing his attention, “your reputation admittedly precedes you. And if such things are to be believed, then I daresay that it is this individuality which you are attracted to.”

If the maid didn’t know better, she would’ve sworn that she saw Loki smile. He puffed out his chest just a little.   
“I would wager you are correct. An astute observation, I’m impressed.” Gertha bowed her head dutifully.   
“Thank you. Is that all you require of me?”  
“Yes, thank you. Return to your duties.”

* * *

 

Sunlight peeked in between your eyelids, greeting you with warmth and light. You blinked several times in attempts to acclimatise, slowly becoming aware of your surroundings simultaneously. The bed was a welcome temperature, soft blankets helping to soothe your aching muscles. Everything hurt – from the joints of your shoulders to the muscles in your calves. A dull ache had spread outwards from your core, having allowed sleep to envelop you easier than you’d care to admit.

Still, it had been very, _very_ worth it.

A pair of lips pressed suddenly against the back of your neck, caressing the skin multiple times until you were convinced to roll over. Loki’s mouth moved swiftly, bidding you good morning with a delicate kiss.   
“Hello,” you croaked, throat a little hoarse and unashamedly so.   
“Good morning… again.”

With a little help from Loki (who didn’t seem nearly as stiff as you were), you sat up against the headboard before being handed a small chipped cup of tea and a pastry to munch upon.  
“I’ve changed my mind,” you sighed happily. “If this is the life of a royal guest, I think I could get used to it.”  
“Bless you for making such a sacrifice on my behalf.”

The two of you chatted idly over breakfast, neither paying attention to the time. Your head eventually found its way to his shoulder and you relaxed substantially. It was almost strange how _not_ _strange_ everything felt. The two of you sat next to one another, sipping from teacups and talking fondly. Whereas Loki was at least partially dressed, you were clothed only in the sheets that you’d wrapped around yourself. Yet it was all incredibly nonchalant.

All that time you’d been concerned about how fast things had been progressing – you were sleeping with Loki, kissing Loki, making love to Loki. A day prior you’d have felt self-conscious about it all, maybe even a little embarrassed. You’d have undoubtedly been aware of the fact that you were lying beside him with no clothes on. But now? Now it felt like you were back in the tower, making jokes and planning for the day ahead. It was all incredibly mundane… and you were grateful for it. You’d attracted enough trouble for one lifetime; a single morning of peace was enough.

“I should change,” you eventually sighed, passing over your chipped teacup which Loki obediently returned to the tray.   
“Whatever for?”  
“It’s my first day in the capital; you don’t think I’m going to waste it sitting in bed, do you?”

Upon your command, Loki picked your shirt up off of the floor and handed it to you. “I should have known you’d wish to play the tourist,” he muttered as you clambered out of bed.  
“You don’t have to come with me.”  
“On the contrary. Each time you’re out on your own, something happens to you. What have we had? Let me think: knockout bombs, kidnapping, even an arrest! No, darling, I shall not be making the mistake of letting you leave without an escort.”

“And here I thought you might wish to tag along because you enjoyed my company,” you sighed.   
“That might also have a little something to do with it.”  
“Just a little?” You asked, leaning against the closest poster of the bed. Loki grinned warmly, and got to his feet. He towered over you and kissed your mouth sweetly.   
“A lot. It has a lot to do with it.”

You sighed contently, trying not to get too drunk on the smell of the man in front of you. Biting your lip, you forced yourself to take a step away from him lest you get drawn in.   
“Look at me, Loki. My first day in this city and I already have the youngest son of Odin as my tour guide.”

Loki started. He blinked once or twice deliberately, and licked his lips at it sunk what you’d just said. You remained oblivious to his alarm, however, as you gathered up something a little more modest and dressed yourself to leave his quarters.   
“I should speak with one of the maids. See if I can’t find myself some clothes.”

* * *

 

For the entire time that you were gone, Loki paced the floor of his bedroom. Perhaps you had said it out of kindness… It would be incredibly characteristic of you. Maybe you simply did not wish to bring up his troubled past directly. He’d not discussed it with you, after all, and there was every chance you were simply being cautious. Maybe you simply didn’t want to assume.

Or maybe you were truly as oblivious as he feared you to be.

You’d described to him more than once how little you knew of the royal family, and its history. It wouldn’t surprise him if all the associated scandals that had emerged over the years hadn’t even reached your ears.

If that was the case, then… You truly didn’t know. Loki winced and covered his face with his hands. Oh, this was very bad. After everything he’d yelled at you about, now he was a hypocrite. Did it count as hypocrisy if ignorance was so heavily involved? You’d been ignorant to the truth, and he’d been ignorant to _your_ ignorance. In either case, he wagered that he could not be blamed; there was no fault to be had when technically he had not lied.

Be that as it may, he felt no better about the situation he’d found himself in. He knew exactly how this would look to you. _The great and powerful Loki finally admits to being nothing more than a humble man._ All this time, you’d thought you were in love with a man – when in fact you’d fallen for a monster. How did he even begin to explain?

When he heard you re-enter his quarters, calling out that you’d returned, his heart rate hastened severely. You appeared in the doorway, a simple white gown over your arm, and froze. There was something off, you realised. The look in Loki’s eyes wasn’t something you’d seen before.   
“Is… everything alright?” You were reluctant to ask.   
“I… I have something I must confess to you.”

“Okay,” you stammered. There was a part of your mind that tried to argue nothing was wrong, that you had no real reason to be afraid. However, the weak smile you offered in response did not fill anybody with confidence.  
“Let’s,” he cleared his throat and placed his hands behind his back. “Let’s take a walk – as soon as you’re changed, of course.”

* * *

Thor unlocked the doors to the weapons vault – under the wary eyes of his guards – and allowed you to step tentatively inside. Truth be told, you were growing increasingly worried about what it was Loki wished to confess. Neither he nor his brother had said a single word on your walk to… wherever you were.

Before Loki could follow you inside, Thor placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. He was met with a fierce glance.   
“Are you sure about this, brother?” Thor asked. “I would not see you hurt by exposing yourself so soon.”  
“She has to know,” Loki replied icily. “Or is the king of Asgard truly insisting that I perpetuate a lie?”

Loki ducked out of Thor’s reach, and entered Odin’s weapon vault with his heart in his throat. The doors closed behind you both with a tremendous boom. Thor folded his arms, and leant against the door. Although he didn’t know it, he wouldn’t have to wait long.

“What is this place?” You asked, once Loki was by your side again. The walls and ceiling were incredibly high; they made you feel insignificant, a feeling that was worsened by the terrifying artefacts that lined the room. In your fear, you reached out to Loki, hoping to link your arm with his – but he pulled away from you, seemingly afraid for different reasons…

“This is the Weapon’s Vault. Home to Odin’s most valuable and most dangerous artefacts. Anything and everything that could bring the galaxy to its knees is housed right here.”   
“That… seems a little risky, don’t you think?”  
“Proving once again that you are wiser than the Allfather.”

The conversation eased your nervousness a little, no matter how reserved Loki insisted upon being. As you neared the end of the corridor, his eyes had become fixated on the artefact ahead of you both. A strange blue box that glowed ominously and seemed to both beckon and petrify.   
“And… And what’s this?” you asked, flashing a brief smile to try and remain positive. Perhaps this was just a detour on your tour of the city; a morbid joke, meant to frighten you. If that was the case, it was working.

Loki glared at the strange rectangular box, circling it like he couldn’t to break his gaze. Curious markings adorned the outer casing that seemingly housed a blizzard.   
“This,” Loki said, voice slurred with what sounded like… disgust, “is the Casket of Ancient Winters, of Jotun origin.”  
“And what does it… do?”

Dropping his head, Loki laughed mirthlessly.   
“You might wish you had not asked that.”

Carefully, and with agonising slowness, Loki wrapped his slender fingers around the handles of the Casket and lifted it off of the pedestal. You watched his actions carefully, waiting for something spectacular to happen. Perhaps an explosion, or some cheerful music.

No such luck. A chilling blue seeped from the casket’s body into Loki’s fingers. It spread slowly across his hands and doused his skin in icy hues all the way from his wrists to his neck. When it reached his face, and the markings appeared, your pulse picked up. The truth set in. The colour of his eyes was the final penny to drop.

“You’re a… a frost giant?”


	45. Chapter 45

Loki was as you’d never seen him before. His eyes were bloodied; his face was scarred; even his skin had seemingly been bathed in ice. He was… horrifying. Though you’d heard the stories, you’d never seen a Frost Giant before. You never wanted to again, frankly. This was very new information, and you weren’t handling it as well as you ought. Instinct took over for a moment, if fleetingly; you forgot who you were with, whose feelings would be hurt, and stumbled onto your back foot with fear.

“I knew it,” Loki snarled, dropping the casket back onto its pedestal with a heavy thud. “You’re disgusted with me.” Even when wishing to deny it, the awkward pause you left didn’t help your case. Casting your eyes to the floor, your mouth remained open as you fought to take steady breaths.   
“I don’t think…  _disgusted_  is the right word.”

You were shaking from head to toe as the astonishment settled into your bones. Loki would have been at your side in an instant were he not terrified that you’d recoil from his touch. For now, he chose to watch you from afar, waiting for the blue to bleed out of his face before he made any sudden movements.

“Shocked: yes,” you panted. “Very,  _very_  surprised: absolutely. But disgusted?” You risked another look at the man behind the podium; the red was still in his eyes and you couldn’t meet their gaze for longer than a second. Your gut turned cartwheels. “I don’t know, Loki. I think– I think shocked covers it well enough for the moment.”

* * *

 

He was a Frost Giant! Your head repeated over, and over, and over again. It tortured you with the image of him, crimson eyes watching you warily, seemingly unsurprised by this reaction. Just for a moment, another version of him bled into the mix. His eyes watched you in this version too – but differently. Longingly. Lasciviously. Suddenly you felt sick. The events of the morning replayed in your head and your stomach span more than cartwheels. A woozy head caused you to stumble, and Loki flinched, surpassing the podium to come to your aid.

You held out a hand and he froze.   
“You… You should’ve told me this, Loki.”

Loki wanted to understand, he really did, but there was something within him that refused to back down.   
“All the things you kept from me – for a lot longer, I might add – but here you stand demanding that  _I_ should’ve been more honest?”

“This is…” you swallowed hard. “This is different, Loki, and you know it. Very, very-”  
“Different, yes. I got the point.”

You could see that his upset had become him. His bottom jaw jutted out as his breathing grew erratic. Wet eyes searched the room for answers. Confusion fluttered in your stomach like a butterfly. How was it you were afraid of him, yet concerned that you’d hurt him?

This was just too much to bear.  
“I need a minute to… to process,” you whispered. When his eyes met yours that time, they had regained their innocence. He called your name as you spun on your heel, but you never once slowed.  
“I just… A minute, Loki, I need a minute.”

He knew better than to follow you.

* * *

Brynjolf stretched and grunted loudly as his spine relaxed. The man ahead of him looked positively disgusted by the noises he made, and, in his defence, they were a little obscene. But who could blame the man? Exhaustion didn’t cover half of what Brynjolf felt.

The servant – known to his friends as Renard – had been unlucky enough to be sweeping the corridor nearby, when he’d heard Brynjolf bash his stout fist against the door to Loki’s quarters.   
“They’ve gone out, sir. A few moments ago, I’m afraid.”  
“Any idea when they is coming back?”  
“No sign was left indicating their destination, so I’m afraid I can be of no help to you.”  
“Not necessarily. Don’t suppose you could show me back to my room?”

The palace was a maze to the dwarf – a maze that he was yet to map. Despite having located Loki’s room with the help of directions from anybody he encountered, getting back was an entirely different matter.   
“Your room, sir,” Renard huffed, doing his best to remain cordial despite his disgust at the dwarf’s offensive manners.

After stepping through the open door, Brynjolf froze. You sniffled and looked up at him, puffy eyes blinking multiple times as you feigned nonchalance. You were sat on his bed with your legs crossed and quivering hands balled up in your lap. Silver streaked down your cheeks too. Even if he’d believed that you weren’t crying at the moment, the evidence of a former offense was obvious.

Brynjolf had seen you at your worst multiple times; you looked dangerously close to being so again. Immediately, his chest doubled in size. Whatever had made you feel this way, he’d do his best to punch it. If he couldn’t do that, then he’d… He’d… Well, he could figure out Plan B when punching it failed him. After all, it was yet to do so.

Renard stepped inside also, and gasped theatrically at the sight of you.   
“Madam!” He exclaimed. “Madam, what on earth is the matter? Is there anyth-”

Brynjolf grabbed the back of the boy’s shirt collar. Renard hacked as his sentence was cut off. He felt another hand grasp the belt of his trousers. Brynjolf lifted the servant clean off the ground, as if he weighed nothing, and tossed him back into the corridor.   
“That’ll be all, lad. Ta very muchly.”

Even though the door had shut in his face, Renard could still be heard offering support like a stereotypical sycophant was obliged to do. When he finally gave up, he swore that he would fetch the King himself in order to be of assistance.  

Rolling his eyes, Brynjolf turned back to you and stepped tentatively closer. If you were here at all, you wanted his help. It was simply a matter of deciding what form it took. You let him close enough that he could sit next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and giving them a quick squeeze.   
“You…” A sniffle scrunched up your nose. “You smell like ale.”   
“Yes lady, I do. That would be the ale I drank.”  
“Right… Yes, of course.”

You rubbed the underside of your nose with the back of your hand and sighed, deep and heavy. Whatever it was that troubled you had been lessened slightly by the mundane conversation.  
“Trouble in paradise then?” He asked.   
“Something like that, yes.”

Brynjolf settled himself comfortably, removing his arm so that he could clasp his hands in his lap. He wanted to give you his full attention – and he had. Your smiled sadly at him, feeling very undeserving of the unwavering compassion.   
“What’s goin’ on then? ‘Ave I got to knock that sack of sour pebbles bandy a bit? Bash a few heads together?”  
“No, no,” you chuckled, despite your moroseness. Somehow Brynjolf was tugging a smile onto your lips, despite the sombre top of conversation. “Nothing like that.”

Brynjolf cocked his head slightly, waiting for you to be ready to talk. It took a few moments, but eventually you found the words.   
“Frost Giant. He’s a– a Frost Giant.”

Admittedly, it wasn’t the news he’d expected but he could see why you’d been left so shaken by it. He nodded slowly, still intent on appearing understanding whilst his brain digested the information. Seemingly, the confession had done you some good. Your back straightened a little as frustration overruled your sadness.

“He’s a  _Frost Giant_ , Brynjolf. A- A blasted Frost Giant! How could he not have told me this?” You scoffed. “After everything we’ve been through, after everything we…” Once again, the sick feeling returned to your stomach. This time, however, it coupled with a confusing blush. “After everything we…  _did_. He kept it quiet that he was a Frost Giant this whole time.”

“And that’s… a problem?” He asked. You blinked a couple of times and turned to look at him, disbelief written across your face. Was he seriously asking you that?  
“Of course that’s a problem, Bryn! You grew up on the same stories I did, surely. You know what they are, and what they do. They’re monsters!”

With a chuckle that only a man twice his companion’s age can give, Brynjolf folded his arms.   
“Alright. Let me ask ye’ something then. Is Loki a monster?”

You didn’t reply at first; to say he’d caught you a little off-guard was an understatement. It appeared that Brynjolf was filled to the brim with infuriating questions. You’d come here for help, but all he seemed capable of was lecturing you!

When he raised an inquisitive eyebrow at your hesitance, you forced yourself to reply. Unfortunately, you could only bring forth the truth, painful as it was.   
“No,” you sighed dejectedly. “No, of course he isn’t.”  
“You hesitated.”

Wrapping your arms around yourself to cope with the overwhelming discomfort of the situation, you licked your lips before speaking.   
“He did… Well, he did try to take over another world. That’s… I was raised that monsters aren’t what they look like, but what they do. Their actions become them. The more I think about it, the more I can see everything he’s done wrong.”

Brynjolf frowned, and stroked your hair affectionately. The attention wasn’t discomforting.   
“Lady, no offense, but you’re only seeing them things because you want to now. You want to attribute them to what he is, not who he is. Because his kind are monsters, you’re seekin’ out all the little things that match that description, whether they’re pertinent or not! If his actions didn’t bother ye’ before, then they shouldn’t be botherin’ ye’ now, just because you want to believe that he’s the monster he’s confessed to be.”

Something began to sink inside of you – and you had a horrible feeling it was your stomach. What had you done…?  
“And as for him being transparent with ye’, isn’t this him doin’ just that? Look, I don’t know what you twos have been up to but I’m guessing that it’s a bit juicy. It could be that he feels bad doin’ all that good stuff with ye’ and keepin’ this secret at the same time! If that’s the case, he’s done exactly what you want him to – he’s getting’ it out in the open before it goes any further, before you do anything else.”

The weight of Brynjolf’s explanation sunk in and your heart began to heave. What had you done? He was absolutely right, of course. You’d made Loki out to be the monster you believed him to be, rather than having faith in the person he was. Everything he’d done… You’d forgiven him long before and long after meeting him. Why would it matter now? You’d let your prejudices get the better of you and the thought was sickening, to say the least.

With anyone else, you’d have defended yourself – insisted that you’d never purposefully think ill of someone you held so dearly – but there was no point lying. Not to him. Brynjolf had proved himself to be surprisingly compassionate and open-minded; you owed him an even greater debt than before.

Brynjolf was a little surprised in himself too. He’d have been the first to defend you or Fenrien without question, but Loki? This was an act of loyalty he’d never considered their relationship capable of.

“Does this… Does this make me a terrible person?” You asked. “Because I think you’re right, and I hate that you’re right, because then it means that I didn’t see it that way – and I should’ve done. I’m the woman who ran out on the man she loves because he’s… different. Oh god,  _I told him he was different_ ,” you sobbed, covering your face with your hands to hide the gut-wrenching shame.   
“No, lady,” Brynjolf consoled you. His hand moved from your hair to your back, rubbing it briskly. “I don’t think that makes ye’ an asshole. It’s still big news and it ain’t gonna be easy for you to forget about, but you’re not an asshole for needing to process that you’ve been fuckin’ a frost giant.”

As much as you hated to admit it, the bluntness settled your beating heart, albeit with an embarrassed smirk. Could he have been a little less callous in his descriptions?  
“Thanks…. I think.”  
“Just get back in there, and tell him everything you told me! You two has got to start talking to one another, for cryin’ out loud.”

You nodded profusely, rubbing your nose again. Before you could stand up to leave, however, a gentle knock at Brynjolf’s bedroom door drew your attention.   
“Miss? Are you in there? May I enter?” asked the King of Asgard softly.

He was not alone either. When permitted entrance, the door swung open to reveal his highness and the Lady Sif, who promptly dismissed the bowing servant. She nodded cordially to Brynjolf, before standing to attention by the newly closed door. Concern was laden on her face, but she remained distant for the time being.

Thor crossed the room and got to one knee at your feet.   
“I warned him that perhaps it was not the right time to tell you,” he smiled sadly. You dropped your head, feeling very awkward. This was not the conversation one should be having with their reigning monarch. However, you got the sense that this encounter was… different somehow, as if Thor was here not as your king, but as a friend. As family.

“I overreacted,” you murmured, comforted by the hand that remained on your back. “I just needed a little time to gather my thoughts. You may consider them gathered.”

Thor raised an eyebrow. He knew that you were a little less collected than you were claiming to be. How was it that everybody in this room seemed to know you better than you knew yourself? Were you really so easy to read? Whatever the cause, it was infuriating.

“If I may,” he said, gesturing to where Brynjolf sat. Obediently, your friend got to his feet and approached Sif. He had a few questions for her anyway about where she’d bought her sword and shield. Better to ask now and afford you a little privacy.

You felt the mattress dip significantly when Thor seated himself beside you. He rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward.   
“When I found out of Loki’s true heritage, it was my father who told me. Much as you have, I found the information difficult to process – especially after having been at war with Jotunheim for so long. There was a great seething anger within my heart that was tricky to extinguish. I felt betrayed, and lied to. Although it took time, I soon realised that my anger had been misdirected. My brother was no different at all. He was still the cocky little thorn in my side he’d always been. It’s only since he left us that I really found blame with my father. He’d allowed tales to be spun of the Frost Giants that would forbid my brother from loving himself should he ever discover the truth. Where I knew my brother to have a good heart and innocence, Odin painted his kind as incapable of both – and thus, so did Loki.”

“I confess to knowing very little about Odin during his reign.”  
“I wish I could say I knew him better than you, but the longer he is gone, the more of his secrets I uncover. I fear Loki is more his son than he would ever admit. Both men are intelligent, accomplished individuals. Though they are very skilled at spinning falsehoods, they also possess a fierce and intense love towards whomsoever should earn it, and I daresay that you have.”

Thor bowed his head. He’d agreed with Sif’s judgement. You were good for his brother. All he wanted now was to ensure that Loki was good to himself – and that meant convincing you to trust him.   
“This…  _part_  of him that you’ve discovered, it does not define him as much as you might believe. You have no reason to heed my words given how I responded to yours, but if you would accept the pleas of a very tired man, I entreat you not to let it change your view of him. I promise he is still the same person. One simply needs the opportunity to see it for themselves.”

“You have my word,” you assured him, placing your hands onto his. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Loki was right. You really did live to help others – it was both a gift and a curse. Even in your morose state, you felt compelled to provide solace to the troubled king. Helping Thor come to terms with his history was already strengthening your spirits.   
“Then you’re already a better man than I.”

You stood up and straightened out your clothing.   
“I should go and find him. I owe him an apology.”

Sif stepped forward at this point, clearing her throat politely. She’d distracted Brynjolf by handing over her sword for him to examine. Though he was endearing, she’d grown tired of his incessant questions.   
“One of the handmaidens has organised your wardrobe and requires your presence to measure you up. If you’d like, I could take you down to her now and get you cleared up. It might do to take your mind of things and freshen up a little before seeking Loki out.”

You blinked, and scratched the side of your head. Given how the two of you had met, you’d not expected Sif to offer such kindness. It wasn’t unappreciated but… It was a surprise to say the least. Thor beamed, leaping to his feet as he clapped his hands together.   
“An excellent idea!” He declared. “In fact, pick your favourites of whatever she designs for you and wear it to dinner with me this evening. I’ll invite Loki and all of your friends – I don’t doubt you’re eager to see them all – and we’ll celebrate… Uh, we’ll celebrate… Well, we’ll find something to celebrate. Could someone find me that boy Renard?”

Sif rolled her eyes with a fond smile, no stranger to Thor’s ramblings, and offered you her arm. You gratefully accepted it and let her lead you from the room. As you walked, you mind wandered to Loki…

Where was he? Was he alright?


	46. Chapter 46

Loki threw open the door to his quarters, intending to slam it behind him. However, the wood of the door hit someone’s shoulder instead. Jarle forced his way into the room after him, and purposefully left the door open as he marched inside. It pleased him to know that the open doorway would infuriate Loki at a later date.

“Even if I needed company, yours would be the last I’d seek,” Loki snarled, turning around and dropping into one of the two sofas. He lifted his hand to the sky and, with a casual wave, caused a flame to ignite at the bottom of the hearth. Hot light flooded the room and doused his face in shadows.

“You stormed right past me with murder most foul upon your face, and (y/n) is nowhere to be seen. Even if you hadn’t almost knocked me to the ground, I’d have felt the anger coming off you like it was steam coming off a pile of shit on a winter’s afternoon. I’m not leaving you be until you tell me what has happened!”  
“Why do you even care?” _  
_ “Because if you’re going to take your rage out on someone, I’d rather it be me than her.”

Grinding his jaw, Loki turned to face the flames. It lit up his eyes in a most terrifying way. Despite this, Jarle was confident in the fact that Loki was simply a showman. He was far less nervous than he’d been at the edge of the forest four days ago.   
“You think I’d ever weaponize my wrath upon her?” Loki said, voice no louder than the rumble of thunder. _  
_ “I don’t know, and that’s where my concern lies. If I ever find out that you’ve hurt her in some way, you’ll wish you’d never set foot in my sights.”

Loki liked that he could be angered so easily. _  
_ “You know _nothing_ , boy. Insipid assumptions will get you nowhere. I mean it when I say that I would give my own life before I hurt her – and I have done so once already. You on the other hand, I would obliterate. You think I am threatened by what you say? Please. I’ve crushed bugs under my boot that frightened me more. You are nothing but a child; a boy with a big stick that he’s only just learnt to put his weight behind. Get too cocky with it, and you’ll hit something other than your mark.”

It was evident that Loki’s words had gotten under Jarle’s skin. His back was raised ever so slightly, like a defensive cat, and the hand that gripped his belt had tightened tenfold. One of his nostrils raised ever so slightly as a snarl permeated his cool exterior.  
“Let’s not beat around the bush,” he growled. “I’m not threatened by your personal attacks, and you are not intimidated by me. Let’s save ourselves some time and avoid the cyclical conversation.”  
“Gladly. Do shut the door on your way out.”

Bowing his head as quickly as was possible whilst also avoiding whiplash, Jarle paid his few respects and turned swiftly on his heel. His hand touched the door’s edge as he walked through it, the heel of his boot just beginning to sink into the soft carpet of the corridor when he heard it. The sound had been soft and barely audible of the crackling of the fire, but it was definitely there.

Somebody had sniffed.

Was Loki crying? Or did he have your petrified form tied up and locked away somewhere nearby? The latter certainly seemed more plausible, given how little he knew about him.

However, contrary to his expectations, when Jarle risked a glance over his shoulder he watched a single solitary tear run down Loki’s left cheek, glowing gold in the firelight. It was promptly wiped away; Loki frowned at the moisture on his hand, rubbing it on his shirt like it was a germ.

With a resigned sigh, Jarle bowed his head, stepped back into the room, and shut the door softly with a click. Loki looked up and saw him clasp his hands in front of his abdomen; watchful; observant; _exasperating_.  
“I thought I made myself clear-”  
“You did,” Jarle interrupted. “Crystal, in fact. However, I cannot ignore that there is something going on with you both.”

“I do not intend to explain myself to you.”  
“And I supposed as much. However, perhaps that’s exactly what you need. A little incivility. I wager kind words would be wasted on you, and luckily, I have none to give. As well as that, neither one of us want the world to know that we’ve shared a cordial conversation, meaning that I can also promise complete discretion. If you desire confidentiality and brutal honesty, I can offer it. However, I shall only do so for about 10 seconds before I march back through the door I came in and extend no such kindness again.”

Chewing the inside of his cheek, Loki turned to the fire yet again, pondering the proposition for eight of the ten seconds he was permitted. There was no denying that he was tempted, if only for the uniqueness of it all. However, it could just as easily be a trap. Jarle could use this as blackmail against him, or get the wrong impression of him as Fenrien had, and… and… Oh, why not? There was nothing more he had to lose, after all.

“Very well. Can you promise me no ridicule?”  
“No.”

* * *

 

By the time Loki had finished explaining, Jarle had lowered himself into the sofa opposite, where he now looked incredibly pensive.  
“So… allow me to clarify that I’ve understood correctly.”  
“If you must.”

Jarle’s hands were pressed together and his fingertips were underneath his chin. He closed his eyes, finalising a few details, and then exhaled slowly.   
“When you’ve told people about your… _origins_ … in the past, few and far between though they may have been, you were met each time with pity.” Loki nodded curtly. He was leaning against the arm of the sofa on which he sat, legs crossed over one another, watching his companion’s face. “And this reaction – such as that of your brother – often serves to irritate you.”

“That is correct. I have no need of their sympathy. I know what I am. I’ve had time to come to terms with it. I have no need of pitiful gazes or soft eyes. This information should be no more shocking to people than me conveying my birth date.”

Snorting, Jarle leant back in his seat and folded his arms.   
“I highly disagree.”  
“Somehow I am not surprised.”  
“I’m serious. Those two confessions are nowhere near alike.”

“I should have kept my mouth shut, you are saying then.”  
“Not at all. I simply think that (y/n) has every right to be distressed by the declaration.”

Rolling his eyes, Loki stood up and approached the fireplace, resting his elbow upon the mantle and leaning over the flames casually. Clearly Jarle didn’t understand anything he’d said, though it didn’t stop him speaking.

“Consider it thusly: if she were to pity you or simply not care about your upbringing, she’d be irritating and just like everyone else. However, she’s done quite the opposite and you’re still upset? Forgive me, but I see no way in which she can win.” Loki blinked. Was it the heat of the fire going to his head or… had Jarle made sense? The latter tilted his head and directed a smug expression Loki’s way. “If her reaction was so unimaginable, you wouldn’t have been nervous to tell her in the first place. All she’s asked for is time to adjust. As you said, you’ve had plenty of time to become accustomed to who you are, but to (y/n) this has come out of nowhere.”

Loki hadn’t considered this. Yes, your reaction wasn’t pleasant, but it also wasn’t pitiful or charitable. It would’ve struck him as odd or unnerving had you accepted him so wholeheartedly, without a second thought. _Oh Loki, of course this won’t change anything because I love you so completely and I think you’re practically perfect._ He smirked. You _definitely_ were not that virtuous. If your previous encounters were anything to go by, you had no quarrel with telling Loki what was wrong with him and, despite your reaction, you hadn’t done that. As Jarle had said, it seemed you just needed time after all. And Loki had as much of that to give as you wanted.

Raising a singular eyebrow, Jarle realised that Loki’s silence might be a good thing. Perhaps he’d actually listened to his advice. Nonetheless, better to throw in something cruel for good measure. “Of course, if you’d rather let this cause a divide between the two of you, I don’t doubt she’ll find someone’s shoulder to cry on. Perhaps the handsome and charming Fenrien, or your brothe-”  
“Yes, thank you, architect,” Loki snapped, his head whirling around to glare at him.

Holding up his hands, Jarle was confident that Loki would do the right thing. He stood up, dusted down his trousers, and made to leave. Yet again, however, he paused.   
“That reminds me. I owe you thanks for suggesting my name as royal architect. I start work next week.”  
“You’re welcome. I look forward to you being so busy that our paths never cross.”

Jarle opened the front door, only to catch sight of a small servant boy with his fist raised as if to knock.   
“Excuse me, sir, I was looking for master Loki.”  
“Skulking by the fire, as per usual,” Jarle chuckled, gesturing over his shoulder. “May I pass on a message?”

Renard nodded nervously.  
“His highness has requested that his brother join him for dinner this evening, along with yourself, of course.”  
“You can tell him I’m in no mood for jovialities,” Loki sneered in the distance. “Say I have no appetite.”   
“He said you’d say that, sir,” Renard replied. Jarle stepped aside so the boy could speak a little more frankly to his master. In the meantime, he stuck around, leaning back against the wall to make sure that Loki minded his manners. “In fact, he asked me to tell you that if you try to decline, that he would personally come down here to… to…”

Renard stopped, bowing his head with a bitten lip and beginning to kick the carpet anxiously. Jarle cocked his head amusedly. Even Loki’s brow was raised.   
“To what? What threat does my brother make?”  
“If… you try to decline, he will come down here to pull your underwear over your head, like the child that you are.”

Despite the obvious disgust in his eyes, Loki had no opportunity to make a retort as Jarle’s laughter had completely muted any other sound that might be heard. He clutched his gut tightly and doubled over with tears in his eyes. Renard was forced to await an answer, which only came when Jarle finally caught his breath.   
“Tell his highness we’ll both be there. I’ll see to it myself.”

“Oh, you will, will you?” Loki snorted once Renard had disappeared. Jarle fanned his face with a hopeless frin as the laughing fit finished settling. He chuckled mildly and clutched his belt again.   
“Thor isn’t inviting you out of cordiality, moron. My invite should be evidence enough that you won’t be dining alone. (Y/n) will be there and it’ll be the perfect opportunity to apologise. So, go and wash your stupid face, and dress smartly. If I arrive tonight and you’re absent, there’ll be hell to pay, _Laufeyson_.”

* * *

Jarle leapt out of the doorway and pulled it shut behind him. After a piercing sound reached his ears, he turned to see the edge of a dagger protruding through the wood of the door. It was nice to know that the ability to get one’s back up was not reserved to one party.

Feeling incredibly proud of himself, Jarle left to locate his own quarters.


	47. Chapter 47

Fenrien leaned casually outside the doors to the main dining hall, one foot propped up against the wall. He’d been stood there for at least half an hour, and to say he grew anxious was an understatement. Thus, his mood picked up significantly when he spotted Jarle arriving on the scene.

“Finally,” Fenrien sighed. “I was worried this was some horrible ruse.”  
“Why? Is nobody here yet?”  
“On the contrary, Lady Sif, the Warriors Three, and the King himself are already seated. You must be mad if you think I’m sitting with them alone.”

Jarle rolled his eyes.   
“Is somebody shy?”  
“Any other time, I would not be, my friend, but I am still a former-convict. I’m not about to risk reoffending without friends to back me up.”

Patting his new friend’s shoulders and looking him deeply in the eye, Jarle attempted to instil a little confidence in him.   
“It’s not a ruse to catch you out, don’t worry. I was there when our mutual friend was invited.” Fenrien raised a solitary eyebrow.  
“You really think _he_ will show up? Brynjolf told me about their little lover’s spat.”   
“Well, I told him I’d hunt him down like a dog if he didn’t.”

Fenrien laughed a little too abruptly, quickly forcing himself to reduce it to a guilt-ridden smile.  
“Don’t believe me?” Jarle asked, folding his arms.   
“Oh no, quite the contrary. I believe you; I just wish I’d been there to see it.”  
“So it’s not that you don’t believe I said it, it’s that you don’t believe I was genuinely threatening.”

“It’s nothing personal,” Fenrien snickered, sensing Jarle’s wounded ego and placing a hand on the man’s lower back. “I simply cannot envision Loki as somebody who scares easily. Make as many threats as you like, but the man will not be dominated.”  
“Well, when we’re done with dinner, I’ll take you somewhere and show you just how dominating I can be!”

Immediately after speaking, Jarle caught his tongue.   
“That’s… That’s not what I meant,” he stammered, heat rushing to his cheeks. Fenrien raised an inquisitive eyebrow with an impish grin.   
“It isn’t? Shame. That’s another sight I’d love to observe.”

Before Jarle’s mortification could worsen, Loki appeared. As per Jarle’s instruction, he’d dressed up a little. A pair of tidy black trousers, with boots, adorned his lower half, whilst the vertical lines of a thin, sleeveless ebony coat drew the eyes upwards. Underneath it was a powder blue shirt with noble emblems tessellating upon the fabric.

“Is this smart enough for you?” He growled upon arrival.   
“It’ll do,” Jarle replied, folding his arms and nudging Fenrien smugly with his shoulder. The latter rolled his eyes. Damn. What would it take for him to believe that he could be in control?   
“That reminds me,” Fenrien cut in, with a click of his fingers, “what were the two of you doing together today? Are you suddenly friends?” All colour drained from Jarle’s face under Loki’s suddenly fierce glare. _I can also promise complete discretion_ , he’d said. Oh boy, was he ever in trouble…

Once again, Jarle’s hide was saved in the nick of time. Brynjolf led you down the corridor by the hand, but he could feel you pull back a little as the dining room doors drew nearer. Just seeing the back of Loki’s head was enough to send your stomach spiralling.   
“I don’t think I can do this, Bryn,” you muttered. The dwarf tried to you forward but failed.   
“You can, lady. I believe in ye’.”  
“No, I’m serious. Look at me – I look ridiculous.”

Brynjolf very much disagreed. The dress which the seamstress had crafted was anything but ridiculous. A sweetheart neckline and fitted waist both paid compliments to your figure, whilst the teal chiffon material that formed the dress was flattered by golden beading on the sleeves. Finally, a plated metal breastplate and gauntlets topped the ensemble off. It was the most extravagant outfit you’d ever worn – and you felt like an imposter in it. A grubby little nobody who had decided to play princess.

It wasn’t just Brynjolf who disagreed either. Loki saw that his companion’s focus had shifted and turned around. There you were. He swallowed nervously, and adjusted his collar. This was not the scrappy little village woman he’d met once upon a time; now you were… a vision. Had he not known better, he’d have sworn you were Asgardian nobility – or even a deity.

You were ushered closer by Brynjolf, whose sympathies to your concerns had decreased significantly. In protesting, you tripped over your own feet and came to an abrupt halt in front of the gathered crowd.  
 “You, uh, you look lovely,” Loki mumbled. You folded your arms and brushed a piece of hair behind your ear, not immediately making eye-contact with him. _  
_ “Thank you. I’d say the same but you once told me that blue was not your colour and I shan’t risk offending.”

Loki smiled mirthlessly; you dropped your head. The tension was palpable, and all present could feel it. Fenrien patted his thighs a couple of times awkwardly and breathed deeply.   
“Well, I don’t know about you, my friends, but I am starved. Come, Jarle, allow me to escort you inside.”

Fenrien heaved open the grand doors, bowing low when Jarle walked by. When their gazes met, Fen looked up from under his long eyelashes and winked. The heat rushed back to Jarle’s face and he coughed nervously. With a heavy sigh, Brynjolf rolled his eyes and shoved the pair of them inside.

The doors closed with a gentle thud that echoed amongst the corridor. The two of you were left alone, and in uncomfortable silence. Neither of you wanted to start the conversation, but the quiet was so unbearable, you gave it your best shot.   
“So, listen, I-”

“No, please, let me speak first,” Loki interrupted, meeting your eyes with innocence and hope in his own. “I owe you an apology, and if you say anything now, I might convince myself not to offer it, which… which wouldn’t be fair to you.”

Nodding, you bit back your words for the time being. You permitted Loki to speak with a cold smile.   
“What I confessed to you was no small matter. Though your reaction was painful to watch, it was… It was understandable, and I don’t resent you for it at all.”

“That’s not an apology,” you smirked, biting your lip. He shook his head fervently.   
“No, no, I know. Bear with me; I don’t do this often.” Loki relaxed a little when you laughed lightly. “I suppose what I wish to say is… If I caused you any ounce of harm, or if I made you uncomfortable, then I cannot apologise enough. Your– Your opinion and your trust mean the world to me. I would not take them for granted. However long you need…”  He bowed his head and laughed lowly. “Well, let us simply say that I’ve become very practiced at waiting, and I’d do it all again for you.”

“That was nice,” you said. “I think I could get used to hearing you say nice things like that.”  
“I wouldn’t count on it.” You laughed again. Loki watched you toy with the hem of your dress, not sure how to begin your own apology. Eventually it was realised in the form of a hug. You wrapped your arms around Loki’s waist and pulled him closer, burying your face into his chest. Frost giant or not, he was still… him. The way he felt in your arms proved as much.

Admittedly, Loki was a little stunned by the contact. Part of him assumed that you’d be too afraid for this, that it would take longer for you to feel comfortable around him again. However, he wasn’t about to complain. It seemed that you were diving right into the deep end. Trial by fire… or rather ice. His head buzzed with foul thoughts, telling him that he was unworthy of your affection, of your forgiveness. Yet, as the embrace persisted, they were slowly drowned out and Loki’s arms found their way around you, his leftmost hand tangling in your hair.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered. “I don’t… I can’t… I’m just so sorry, Loki. I shouldn’t have run off, I should’ve tried to be more empathetic, I should’ve done so many things differently.”

Loki pressed his lips to the top of your head.   
“We both could’ve acted better.”

When you eventually stepped away from one another, the tension settled in again. There was something on the edge of your tongue, a question, to be asked if you could find the courage. What had been Brynjolf’s advice? _You two has got to start talking to one another, for cryin’ out loud._

“Is it always going to be like this?” You hated the words as you spoke them. Loki cocked his head. The way you toyed once more with the fabric of your dress… The fact that your eyes couldn’t meet his own… The trepidation that lined your voice… He’d assumed that all was well now that the apologies had been given.  
“What do you mean, love? Like what?”

“Like _this_ ,” you said again, gesturing between the two of you. “Bickering. Apologising. Bickering again. Ever since we got here, we’ve barely said a word in agreement.”  
“That’s– That’s not true.”  
“Isn’t it? We arrive and argue over whether or not you should give up your titles. Then you punch Thor in the face, and quite literally smother my protests, though I know you meant well. Then there was the incident with our maid, admittedly just a cultural difference but it’s still something. Finally, there was… _this_. I just…” You sighed curtly and placed a hand to the side of your head. “I never know where we stand. My being here is a constant source of turmoil for you.”

“You really think that _you_ are the problem?” Loki asked, stepping a little closer and taking your hands. However, you quickly recoiled.   
“I’m the only common denominator. Maybe if I left for a while – and we took some time for ourselves – things would work themselves out. After all, I said I needed time.”

Before you’d even finished speaking, you were overcome with regret. What were these thoughts that had materialised in your mouth? They didn’t feel right; they weren’t yours. Leave Loki? After you’d spent so long setting him free? It didn’t make sense… Shaking your head, you swallowed your discontent and raised your chin a little higher. He didn’t need to know that you were confused. Not yet, anyway.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Loki murmured, clearly wounded but also trying his best to understand. He didn’t want to have to apologise again and prove you right. “Each instance that you’ve mentioned has also included myself.”  
“Is that the problem then? Not _one_ of us, but both of us together?”

With a parted mouth, Loki looked around him in disbelief. That’s the conclusion you’d drawn from what he’d said? That was the opposite of what he’d meant!   
“I think you’re blowing this a little out of proportion.”  
“Tell me how then,” you whispered, bottom lip beginning to quiver. “Tell me how I’m wrong, because I’d really like to be wrong.”

In fact, you wanted Loki to do more than tell you why you were wrong. You wanted to know why a little bit of panic had settled like sediment at the bottom of your gut. You wanted to know why your subconscious had taken over for a minute, making you say things that you didn’t mean.

Loki realised that you were feeling a little conflict and smiled sweetly. In all honesty, he was grateful that there had been nothing behind your suggestions. You were just… What? What was that look in your eyes? Fear? Confusion? Whatever it was looked familiar to him…  
“Well, I don’t have an answer. However, if I was to make a guess, I’d say we’ve just gone about this relationship of ours the wrong way.”  
“That… makes a little sense. Keep going.”

Offering you his hand, which you eventually took, Loki led you to a nearby ornamental bench that was pressed against a far wall.   
“The way I see it, we’ve gone too quickly from friendship to… something more. It’s like you said last night – it felt strange, as though we were moving too fast. I suppose my confession was simply the catalyst that brought all that conflict to the surface.”

You pondered Loki’s suggestions. They admittedly sounded plausible, and a great deal better than the thoughts plaguing your own head. Why had you become so self-loathing? Sensing the war you fought with yourself, Loki placed a gentle hand on your knee. You hadn’t even realised it had been shaking.  
“I owe you _another_ apology as well. I thought I was doing the right thing by being honest with you, but I wager you’re in no position to handle such confessions at the moment.”  
“What are you talking about?”

“I can see it in your eyes, love. You blame yourself for the village. Teifren, the Committee… Brynjolf told me that you took the lives of people you knew in your escape. Despite having no reason to, you feel responsible for all that happened, don’t you?”

Even as he said it, the truth settled upon your bones and a great sadness washed over you. It was practically suffocating. How had you not realised this yourself? How had this guilt eluded you? Had you been suppressing it that much? Tears began to blur the vision of Loki, whose face was the epitome of concern.   
“I… That can’t be true. That’s _not_ true. I feel… I feel fine.”  
“Do you? So you haven’t been feeling at all overwhelmed? Or self-destructive?”

That was it. Everything fell into place – and then fell apart. You didn’t want to leave Loki at all. Guilt had clouded your mind, skewed your judgement, and manipulated your decisions. Better to feel nothing at all than face the gut-wrenching pain which plagued your heart, even if that meant leaving the man you loved. What a stupid fool, you were! Loki was right. You really didn’t know when to stop helping others to help yourself.

Once the tears began, there was seemingly no stopping them. Loki instinctively pulled you closer. He had been right after all. Oh, how he wished he’d not been right. He held you tightly, stroking the back of your hair whilst you wept into his collarbone. He whispered sweet comforts into your ear, until such a moment that you felt able to come up for air. It wasn’t soon, suffice to say. Your suffering had remained a mystery even to you – until a man who’d experienced it himself had seen the look in your eyes.

“Worry not about us until you’re ready,” he whispered. “However long that takes.” Contrary to his expectations, you placed your hands on his cheeks, pulled his lips onto your own, and kissed him. At first, he was reluctant to reciprocate but moving your hands into his hair abolished all his reservations.   
“I love you,” were the first words out of your mouth as soon as it was freed. “Whatever I have to do to correct course, I’ll do it. I don’t want a life that doesn’t have you in it. I couldn’t do it.”

The words pierced Loki’s heart like his chest was made of paper. A single tear rolled down his cheek, but, quick to embarrass, he brushed it aside, hoping you hadn’t seen.  
“We… We could start with a date,” he suggested.  
“A date?”

Loki nodded.  
“A date. For instance, if I remember correctly you wanted to see the city. Let me show it to you. Let’s take the whole day for ourselves! We’ll peruse the markets, enjoy the outdoors, and you can be as much of a tourist as you wish.”

Laughing softly, you bowed your head and pressed your forehead to his. There was that twisting feeling in your stomach again; you’d not felt it in a while and decided that it boded well. This was most definitely a step in the right direction. Heavens above, you adored this man.

“Alright,” you said, eyes twinkling as you looked up. “A date.”

“And in the meantime,” Loki continued, standing up and smoothing the wrinkles in his attire. “A fresh start for the pair of us. A second attempt.”  
“ _Now_ what are you talking about?”

Loki took a deep and steady breath, straightened his posture, and bowed low, offering you his hand.   
“My name is Loki,” he said. “I think you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Would you do me the honour of joining me for dinner?”

Biting your lip, you turned away to hide a timid smile. How was it he could be so aggravating and yet so endearing at the same time? You slid your trembling hand into his.  
“You already know my name, stupid,” you smirked, shaking your head. “And you don’t clean up poorly either. So yes, I accept. You may take me to dinner.”


	48. Chapter 48

The world was dark. It bled grey. A deep, dying grey. Black in patches, but always grey. It drowned out light. It swallowed sound. You stumbled through the shadows, reaching out into the mist. Anything. Anyone. Anybody there? Billowing clouds of smoke swirled around your fingertips. The cloud swayed. It jumped at your touch.

You yelled the name on the edge of your tongue. It was swallowed by the smoke. ‘Twas a taciturn silence.

It smelled here. Ashen. Bitter. It festered on your lips and salted them with sorrow. Still nothing could be said; you tried. Silence. Again. Silence. Where were you? Where were your words? Where had they gone?

Blundering through the air, your feet found purchase on bloodied soil. Sodden. Sinking. Squelching underfoot. There was a faint orange in the distance, and the air turned warm. Putrid, stinking warm. The orange grew. A blaze. Metal in your mouth that dripped.

A face in the distance was grey too but paler. It flickered with gold as the fire engulfed him. You knew that face. You’d killed him. You’d made that face scream. Turning hurriedly away, you fled but your legs ran slow. Moving but in place. The spectral face flew closer, orbs of white where his eyes should’ve been. His great ghostly mouth opened like a cavern. He swallowed you whole and you screamed.

The world ignited. Boom! Smoke was fire and the faces shrieked. You could see them all – every single one – watching you. Waiting. _Why did you kill us?_ They asked. _Why? Why condemn us to hell?_

You pulled at your hair and fell to your knees. The scream was bloodcurdling. Piercing. Pained. And silent. Again. Silent. The air was hot and sour. Tears doused the flames until the world was cold once more.

Cold. Icy.

Smoke filled the Tower, spilling from the windows, streaming through the doors. It was thick like ink. Two silhouettes emerged from the walls. One held a withering rose – his eyes bleeding red - and the other bore a woodsman’s axe. You screamed that name again, but he did not hear you. The ghosts stepped closer, eyes pale and dead. You fell to the floor, pallid gas forcing its way into your throat. Through the nose. Through the mouth. You choked on smoke as it filled every inch of you. No room to breathe. No air. The smoke cut you open and hollowed you out.

Air. You needed air. Where was the air?! Your insides constricted, a tornado in your lungs. The rose-bearer stepped close, but you scrambled away, away, away from me, get away from me!

You kicked your legs, swimming through the ink, swimming back, back, back; away, _get away_.

* * *

Loki’s hands gripped your shoulders, shaking you softly. He called your name, but you only seemed capable of screaming. Your legs began thrashing violently, and you bawled apologies to names he didn’t know. Loki begged you to awaken, asking you what was wrong, but your cries never wavered. The screams had pulled him from sleep, but sounded so much worse awake. His heart beat fast with worry.

You wrenched yourself free of his grasp, tumbling out of the bed, and hitting the floor hard. You choked and sobbed, curling into the tightest ball you could, pain having pulled you from your nightmare. Loki immediately tore away the bedsheets and leapt to his feet. With a flick of his wrist, candles around the room burst into life. He dropped to his knees at your side.

Your eyes snapped open, silencing you for a second as you fought to catch your breath. You looked around the room as reality settled in. Panting turned to whimpering. Loki pulled you into his lap and shushed you gently. He stroked your hair as tears fell upon his chest. Brynjolf burst into the bedroom in nothing but a pair of silken underpants, wielding his axe and prepared for a brawl.  
“What ‘appened?” he asked. Loki turned, eyes wide and his jaw hanging open.   
“Help… Help me,” he pleaded.

With an affirmed nod, Brynjolf leapt into action. He tossed his axe upon the tousled bedsheets and made for the bathroom, returning with a moist towelette and a glass of water. He handed the former to Loki and left the other on the floor by his feet.

Bryn could see the way you shook as the towelette was pressed against your cheeks. Lifting himself onto the mattress, he ran both his hands over his face and sighed wearily.   
“Hush now, love, it’s alright,” Loki whispered. You clutched his nightshirt a little tighter and buried your face into it. The smell of him alone was helping to calm you. He smelt better than smoke…

“Everything’s better now,” he promised. “It was just… just a nightmare.”

* * *

 Having witnessed your night terrors, Brynjolf was resolute in his decision to watch over you for the rest of the day. That included your date. There was nothing you could say to dissuade him, and you did try. It was just a nightmare, after all - you didn’t need a chaperone!

Though he didn’t see it pertinent to voice such thoughts at the time, Loki was secretly glad to have reinforcements available. He didn’t like feeling helpless, and Brynjolf’s timely intervention that night had been a great source of comfort.

After you’d dropped back to sleep, the two men had talked at length, consoling one another and discussing your mental state. Loki even disclosed details of the conversation you’d shared before dinner. Brynjolf appeared to appreciate his honesty. Though it was a macabre thing to bond over, Loki was not ungrateful for the support. Had his pride not forbade him from it, he might have called Brynjolf a friend (though not a close friend, and certainly not to his face).

The problem that Brynjolf’s company presented was that, as soon as Jarle and Fenrien found out, they too desired to tag along. Despite all three swearing to keep their distance, it was only an hour before you were walking as a group.

Your arm was linked with Loki’s and you could feel the resentment seething from him. Determined to keep his mood amiable, you asked questions, demanded conversations, and generally held his attention. If you couldn’t quell his irritation, you could at least forbid him from thinking on it.

“This place is incredible,” you mused as you turned the corner of the marketplace. It put the village one to shame. A maze of tents, stalls, and shacks were filled with a myriad of businesses. Everything from the exotic and extravagant to the mundane and must-haves were being bragged about, auctioned off, or flogged. The crowds you fought your way through were unlike anything you’d ever encountered.   
“Yes,” Loki said, “I admit things have improved since I was last here.”

“What was it like?” You asked, leaning your head upon his shoulder and looking up to the sky. “Before, I mean.”

“Well, let me see,” he began. “It wasn’t much different to this, I suppose. However, it seemed a lot less cramped. I expect most of these people are here to make coin from the controversy of my resurrection.”  
“Or literally any other reason,” Jarle muttered behind his hand. Fenrien smirked and elbowed him in the ribs.

“Bouquets of crimson flowers lined every corner, great big bushy things,” he continued obliviously. “They were always placed precariously close to the light fixtures, I remember thinking. In fact, most of the marketplace was covered in greenery. It wasn’t topiaries and styled nonsense like it is now, but lush and unreserved. The cobblestone streets would have lashings of moss growing in the cracks, kept in check by the unyielding foot-traffic that the market provided, but somehow unruly enough to keep growing and pad each step. I remember an outing with my mother where I tripped and fell, but the moss made for a soft landing.

“I imagine the greenery was considered a pest after a while; pulled from the very ground it was born in, as though it was some sort of nuisance in its natural habitat. And now look what has happened – those drains are new! They’ve pulled the moss from the ground and now there’s nothing to soak up the rainfall. They’ve got floods.”

You shook your head as Loki laughed morbidly.   
“The way you describe this place. It’s almost like you’re sad to be back. Things have evidently changed a lot for you.”  
“You aren’t wrong. Things have undoubtedly changed. However, I wouldn’t describe myself as sad. Yes, the memories of my childhood are gone, but to tarnish them by pining? To insist upon their reinstatement? No, that would be selfish.”  
“You? Selfish? Never,” Jarle muttered again. This time Loki heard; if looks could kill…

He continued regardless. “I don’t doubt that the maintenance of this area has provided jobs to the gardeners amongst our people, and in turn, the improved surroundings will have drawn more footfall to the marketplace. Change is not always bad, but it is necessary, and when you’ve been away as long as I have, inevitable.”

You smiled wistfully at him, and when Loki noticed your pensive gaze, he raised an inquisitive eyebrow.   
“I never took you for such a pragmatist.”  
“Would it make you feel better if I said that I enjoy discovering that Thor shot himself in the foot by pulling up the moss?”  
“Yes,” you chuckled, “I think it would.”

The pair of you moved swiftly on, still arm in arm and surprisingly content in doing so. Brynjolf observed you the entire time, ever-vigilant and waiting for the first sign of panic. If he were to spot it, no time would be wasted in reaching your side. In the interim, however, he allowed himself to relax a little, perusing the markets for bargains that he could then sell out of town for a higher price. One of the market vendors advertised a fine-looking crossbow…

Fenrien and Jarle, however, had said barely a word to one another, despite having their company all to themselves.

You paused at the stall of a woman in a striking silver gown. She couldn’t be much younger than yourself, but her craftmanship was that of a jeweller twice her age.   
“Please, please, pick it up, have a look,” she smiled sweetly, gesturing to the necklace that had caught your eye. Loki couldn’t help but consider the irony as you delicately lifted the silver chain into the air. It was as thin as a wisp of hair, but not nearly as brittle. At the centre of it hung a shimmering green garnet stone, shaped like a teardrop.

“It’s exquisite.”  
“Thank you very much, mis-” The vendor caught her tongue when she spied your companion. “I mean, _my lady_.”

You placed the necklace back down on the table, thanked the vendor for allowing you to browse, and immediately continued walking. Loki blinked. Did… Did you not want it? No, of course you did. So why…?

It occurred to Loki that you were probably accustomed to not having money, or at least, never spending it on things for yourself. Determined to put that right, he turned to Jarle and swatted his shoulder with the back of his hand.   
“Give me some money.”  
“What? Why?” Jarle replied, wrinkling his nose.

“Because I am your superior and because _I asked_.” When it became obvious that this reasoning would not suffice, Loki frowned. “You care about her happiness, correct? Give me the money to buy her something.”

Brynjolf heard the raised voices and looked away from the munitions stall. He was thankful to see that you’d wandered out of earshot, distracted by a troupe of dancers a few yards away.   
“You’re royalty, aren’t you? Buy it yourself!” Jarle snorted.   
“I no longer possess my titles, fool, nor the money that it affords me. Until such a time as Thor organises my allowance, I have not a penny to my name. You, on the other hand, have a shiny new career. Now, I am yet to hear the jingling of a coin purse.”  
“Bite me, your majesty.”

Loki stepped forward and sized up to the boy. Jarle didn’t back down, keeping his fierce glare fixated upon his opponent. Brynjolf rolled his eyes.  
“I take it back,” Loki snarled. “I might just hold enough sway to organise an execution, provided I ask nicely enough.”  
“Go ahead. To see you licking some councilman’s boots? That’s something I’d pay for.”

“Girls, girls, yer both pretty,” Brynjolf sighed, handing over a few gold coins to the jeweller and thrusting the necklace into a surprised Loki’s hands. Immediately, he hurried away towards the gathered crowd. One of the dancers had pulled you into the performance at some point and the flock of spectators – whom Loki now joined – clapped along to the lively music as you and your partner hopped, skipped, and jumped in circles. It was all terribly good fun, but as your breath grew short, you were grateful for Loki’s rescue.

Jarle watched the encounter with narrow eyes. He folded his arms and stood with his feet spread apart.   
“I don’t like it,” he said.   
“Ye’ don’t have to like it,” Brynjolf replied, reaching up to smack the boy upside the head. He had another clout saved up for Loki too, just as soon as he returned. “Ye’ just have to tolerate it. You think she’ll be ‘appy if she catches you twos bickering like kids?”

“Are you seriously standing there and telling me you trust him completely?”  
“It depends,” Fenrien said, offering his opinion before biting into an apple he’d pilfered from somewhere.   
“That’s ridiculous. Trust isn’t subjective!”  
“In this case, it is. Would I trust him to catch me if I hung from a high ledge? It’s not impossible, but unlikely. However, if you asked me, do I trust him to take care of her? To be as devoted and loyal to her as one person can be to another? Then, yes. I absolutely trust him.”

“So you don’t think he’s an complete scoundrel then?” Jarle asked. Fenrien hesitated for a second, his eyes darting to the side.   
“I- I absolutely trust him.”

Shaking his head, Jarle ultimately let an amused smile creep onto his face. Loki pulled the necklace from his pocket and held it out to you with a smug grin. Even from this distance, he could see the shock in your eyes, and the delight. At first, you pushed his hands away, probably insisting that he return the gift, but Loki rolled his eyes and demanded that you turn around. The smile on your face as he fastened the necklace in place was unlike anything Jarle had ever seen.

“I just cannot fathom how she could claim to love a man like that.”  
“I think it just depends on your definition of love,” Fenrien continued, taking yet another bite of his apple. "It’s all a matter of perspective. Personally, I think it should be someone who knows you far too well. Yes, they put you through hell, but when the time comes, they give you the support that you need. They’ll want you to share your troubles, maybe a little-”  
“Or maybe a lot,” Jarle nodded, completing a surprised Fenrien’s sentence for him. “Someone who holds you closely. Maybe they steal your chair when you’re not looking, or forbid you from sleeping because your dream is watching _them_ dream. At the end of the day, it’s someone who will always be there for you. They’ll be as frightened as you are of being – of feeling – alive."

Fenrien blinked, throwing his apple away, and looking up at Jarle in the midday sun. A gentle halo of gold glittered behind his head,   
“You… think that way? You _really_ think that way?” He asked. Jarle met his gaze, and felt heat rush suddenly to his face.   
“I- I-” He cleared his throat. “Yes, I do.”

Brynjolf rolled his eyes and moved his attention elsewhere. ‘Here we go again’, he thought. Jarle suddenly adopted a bashful smile as the heat from his face spread slowly down his neck. Looking over his shoulder briefly, he leaned down to speak privately with Fenrien.   
“Listen,” he said. “About last night-”

Fenrien’s eyes widened, and he grabbed Jarle’s elbow. Fighting through the crowds, Fenrien dragged his friend towards a nearby alleyway that was dark, secluded, and empty. Jarle grunted as his back was thrown against the wall. Fenrien peered out of the alleyway. Brynjolf hadn’t yet noticed their disappearance; he was engaged in conversation with the jeweller he’d previously bought from. Passers-by also seemed oblivious to their presence. To be caught whispering in a secluded alleyway was a scandal best avoided. 

“I thought you wanted last night to remain private,” Fen huffed once he was certain they were safe. Jarle rubbed the back of his neck.   
“I do, but… Everything you just said put things into perspective a little.”  
“How so?”

“Well, I… I want that. Everything you just said, I want it all. Whether that’s with you or someone else, I don’t know. I just…” He sighed and rubbed his eyes with the balls of his hands. “Look, I’ve never been with a man prior to last night. The village didn’t allow for that sort of thing. If you couldn’t have children, you were of no use. Being myself wasn’t exactly an option. So… what we did meant a lot to me, more than you can know. If it didn’t mean the same to you, then I understand. I just want to be transparent.”  
“Jarle, what are you asking me?”

“I’m… I’m asking you how you feel. Plain and simple. I’ve spent enough time hiding how I feel about men and I’m not about to do so for a second time. I want love. I want romance, and a relationship, and everything you very poetically described. As fun as sleeping with you was, I don’t want to continue if feelings like that aren’t a possibility.”  
“If you want us to cease our fun and games, say so now. I shall not be offended.”

“It’s not that I _want_ to stop. I just need to know what _you_ want. Perhaps it’s the feelings from last night making me say this but… I do like you.” Jarle ran a hand through his hair and laughed anxiously. “We’ve spent a few days together now, and I can say confidently that you’re phenomenal. I just want to know if this could ever be something more than secret midnight encounters.”

“Well, let me see,” Fenrien hummed, tapping his chin. He smiled wickedly, knowing he had Jarle waiting on his every word. “I agree that feelings for you are not completely out of the question, but it seems a little soon for me to be-”  
“Oh no, it is!” Jarle was quick to reply. “I know it’s much too soon to be thinking of these things. In fact I’m… somewhat known for getting a little ahead of myself sometimes. However, if you think there’s even a chance that you could feel more for me than just lust, then I’ll take it. We can fool around to your heart’s content if you think one day it could be something more. That’s all I wanted to know.”

“You… You trust me, and my word, that much? You have that much faith in me?” Fenrien asked, suddenly nervous.   
“I do.”   
“You don’t think I’ll screw things up? I’m not as practiced in the ways of the world as you might think. I’ve spent a year out of it, don’t forget.” He could picture himself panicking in the royal stables, and worrying about working with Brynjolf… Fen had so little confidence in himself; how was it possible for a stranger to have it? And based on so little?  
“That doesn’t change anything,” Jarle replied with a genteel smile. “I’ve made worse mistakes than falling in love too fast.”

“You… You think you love me?” Fenrien stammered. This was not how he’d expected this conversation to go down.   
“I think I could. I thought it last night too. Perhaps it’s just the things we did – they were…” Jarle blushed fiercely, the red on his cheeks visible even in the shadows of the alley. “They were very nice. Nobody has ever made me feel things like that.”

Jarle could sense Fenrien’s hesitance. After all, what did it say about someone who would confess adoration for a man he’d only slept with once? And had only known a few days? Then again, neither one of them would’ve believed in true love had it not freed a certain person from a lifetime sentence last week…  
“You don’t have to say it back,” he murmured. “I suppose I haven’t even said it myself yet! I’m just saying that… Well, if you ever wanted to pursue something a little more serious, you’d only have to ask.”

Jarle left a momentary pause – wondering if he’d get anything akin to a reply – before gathering together the last of his courage, and marching out of the alleyway. Just like that, Fenrien was left to ponder what exactly it was he’d wanted when he’d called on Jarle the night before…


	49. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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Three weeks had passed comfortably after that day. Though as everybody had settled into the capital, you’d all seen less and less of one another. Everybody had become so caught up in their various endeavours that socialisation had not been high in the list of priorities. Thankfully, however, that was about to change.

Thor knocked on the door, and then clasped his hands behind his back, waiting patiently to be bid entrance.  
“No, thank you,” Loki replied, voice muffled by the wood.  
“Brother, it is I.”

A pause. Thor frowned.   
“Loki-”  
“Oh, I’m sorry, did you think that would change my answer?”

Rolling his eyes, Thor opened the door regardless and stepped inside his brother’s quarters anyway. Loki peered over the edge of a book and sighed.   
“I suppose that was to be expected. Well, now that you are here, what can I do for you?”   
“Forgive my intrusion but you don’t seem especially busy,” Thor replied as he shut the door behind him and stepped into the room.

“Not presently, but I will be leaving shortly.” Loki shut his book and placed it on the sofa beside him.   
“And what of my beloved sister?” Thor asked, lowering himself onto the other loveseat and leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “Is she not around?”  
“Please, don’t call her that. Though, if you must know, she had an appointment with the healers.”  
“The healers?” Thor sat upright. “Is everything alright?”

Loki rolled his eyes.   
“Did you have business here _aside_ from snooping, brother-mine?”

Holding up his hand, Thor relaxed a little. If there was a trait that he shared with his almost-brother, it was inquisitiveness. He would simply pay a visit to the healers later and enquire as to your health.   
“I did, yes. I have a proposition for you.”

Loki indicated that Thor could proceed with a wave of his hand. As he began speaking, Loki checked the time, assessing that you’d be out of your appointment soon. He collected his book and made for the far bookshelves, intending to leave as soon as he could.   
“You know that the royal council oft has much to say about the ruling of the kingdom,” Thor began, hoping that a little exposition might better pave the way into the offer he intended to make.   
“Is this the same council that decided my allowance last week?”  
“It is, yes, and that reminds me.” Thor pulled out a pouch from under his cloak and tossed it onto the other sofa. Loki’s eyes were drawn to the jingling bag as it hit the cushions. “That’s the first payment. Spend it wisely.”

Loki’s nose crinkled. Though it probably wasn’t meant to, the presentation of his finances had come across a little condescending.   
“Actually, the reason I am here pertains to your allowance. I wish to offer you more.”  
“I accept,” Loki said quickly. “Thank you for the visit, brother. Most enjoyable. We should have more meetings like this.”

Thor chuckled lowly.   
“You know there is more to it than that.”  
“Yes, unfortunately, I did fear those words leaving your mouth.”

“I put it to the council that you should be of use whilst you are here, and given that I was responsible for dissolving all your claims to the throne, I would offer retribution by extending to you a position upon the council that governs it.”  
“You… want me as a councillor?”  
“No,” Thor replied, enjoying the way Loki’s face fell. Teasing his brother would never cease to amuse. “Better. I want you as my advisor.”

Loki blinked. The royal advisor. That was… extreme. The royal advisor held precedence over all other council members and was second only to the crown itself. The role afforded whomever bore it the deciding vote on inconclusive debates. It was well-respected, well-paid, and powerful. Yet Thor offered it to him? Without reservation? Was this a joke?

“I understand it may be a bitter pill to swallow,” Thor said, “or that it may seem as though I am rubbing your face in what I took away from you, but I pray you believe me when I say that such things are not my intention. I was never meant for all of this grandeur, Loki, and you know it; as good as the council are – and they are just as formidable as when my father walked among them – they pale in comparison to the counsel you used to offer me in our younger years. Whether it was for trickery or not, you were always there when I needed you. You always knew what to say. If you could promise a little more integrity, I would trust your judgement over all else. You are my brother, first and foremost, and I would ask that you fulfil that role once again.”

“And in return, you could offer me a higher allowance,” Loki concluded, clasping his hands in front of his abdomen to hide how conflicted he felt.   
“I could. The council’s only stipulation was how much. I’d have doubled it, but they capped me at thirty percent.”

Loki bowed his head to think, his eyes wandering slightly to the pouch on the sofa. His mind was drawn to the necklace at the market; all he wanted for the moment was to provide for you, as you’d once done for him. The sinking feeling in his stomach returned as he relieved the moment he realised he couldn’t afford the one thing you wanted. It made his choice for him.   
“Very well. I accept.”

“You do?”   
“I do.”

Thor leapt to his feet with a joyous laugh.   
“This is excellent news! Why, Asgard will not know what has hit them. What a formidable pair we shall make!”

Loki rolled his eyes, and gestured to the door. Your appointment would be over shortly, and Loki had an errand to run before he visited the healers. He picked up the coin purse as he did so; he’d need it.  
“You must allow me to officially announce this,” Thor exclaimed, rambling as he was ushered from the room. Loki locked the door behind them. “I’ve been looking for an excuse to celebrate. I’ll throw a ball in your honour.”  
“Throw a party if you must, and even make the announcement during it. However, my first suggestion as advisor is that you do not to hold such festivities in _my_ honour.” Thor chuckled, folding his arms as he came to a halt in the middle of the corridor.   
“Very well, _advisor_. State your case. Why shouldn’t I hold celebrations in honour of my brother, newly returned from the dead?”

Loki was in no mind to slow down, though Thor had paused. As he left his brother’s side, he smiled sadly.   
“Because if you do, nobody will come.”

* * *

Jarle leaned over the blueprints, spread out upon a rickety wooden table in the centre of the palace gardens. His team of engineers had joined him also, where they could design their monument in the space it would stand. Jarle’s first assignment was a test of skill; he was to design a small monument in honour of the fallen village. A testament to history, and a promise to quell corruption and those who perpetuated it. No small feat.

His engineers watched him sketch from the other side of the table, concentration drawing lines upon his brow. They listened intently to the notes he made as adjustments were scribbled upon the plans with the pencil from behind his ear.   
“Are we all agreed on this design for the time being?”

One of the engineers – the youngest, with fiery red hair and a spattering of freckles upon his nose – raised his hand.   
“This section you’ve added over here, sir. Is there no other material we can use? It’s quite expensive for how little of it we’re using.”  
“It is? That’s good to know, thank you. Whilst we figure out an alternative, can you two compile a list of building materials and their price per kilo for me? It’ll be a handy resource for me to have in the future.”

The elder engineers nodded obediently and disappeared to begin their research. The younger engineer also began working, thinking aloud and describing his suggestions for a suitable substitution. However, Jarle had suddenly stopped listening.

Someone was whistling.

It was a very light whistle – melodic and skilful. The warble sounded like something straight out of a songbird’s beak. He looked over to the right, where a giant water fountain trickled pleasantly. Fenrien’s long blond hair was just visible behind the spray.   
“They, uh, they won’t be back for some time,” Jarle mumbled to the engineer, already removing his tool belt and dropping it on top of the parchment. “Let’s take a break for a few minutes.”

Trotting around the edge of the fountain, Jarle looked left and right but the place was empty. It seemed that Fenrien had all but disappeared, until he was spotted a few yards away, retreating up the stairs into the palace. As he swanned away, he cast a look over his shoulder and smiled bashfully when he caught Jarle’s eye. The latter frowned. Why work for his attention only to leave when it had been caught? He turned to where his Fenrien had been lingering and spotted the gift that was left behind.

A singular red rose lay on the stonework surrounding the pool at the bottom of the fountain. A label was attached to the stem with some tattered twine. A coy smile tugged its way onto Jarle’s lips as he read the contents, written in cursive and capable of giving his heart palpitations:  
“ _You said that I only had to ask…_ ”

* * *

 

Brynjolf had been spending a lot of his free time in the stables. The glamour and grandeur of his room made him feel a little out of place. Equally, the stables provided a place that he could work out the profits of his caravan without interruption. In all honesty, he needn’t have bothered with the calculations. Business wasn’t great. The proximity of the capital’s market did not help sales, and Brynjolf feared he would have to venture far further before he could truly make a decent profit once again.

Worst still, Fenrien had become more than accustomed to palace life, flitting about the halls like he was born amongst nobility. Seeing no reason to keep it, he’d consequently returned his share in the profits. With his partner gone and his comrades no more, Brynjolf was running a whole business by himself – and failing. As much as he appreciated the King’s gift, there was truly no incentive to keep the caravan. Bryn sighed loudly and ran both hands over his face.

Over the past week, one of the palace’s horses had taken a shining to him, and, upon hearing the dejected sigh of his friend, ambled over to the other side of the pen. According to the stablemaster, the animal was only capable of carrying small loads; neither strong enough for the cavalry or weak enough to be simply put down. As such, he was up for sale.

Brynjolf hadn’t meant to get attached. However, he’d visited the stables every day this week to do his mathematics, and each time, the horse had kept him company, leaning over the edge of his pen as Brynjolf sat at the bottom of it.

After their third day together, he’d gone so far as to the name horse ‘Duke’, in memory of his last faithful companion.

Brynjolf stood up and reached up to scratch Duke’s nose fondly. He chuffed with delight and stretched his neck out further to receive better attention. A set of hooves thundered and echoed throughout the stables, as another horse cantered inside. The Lady Sif swiftly dismounted, crimson cape twirling elegantly behind her as she did. Brynjolf bowed his head and she returned the gesture.

“A fine steed,” she smiled, gesturing to Duke as she led her own horse to the adjacent pen.   
“He’s a good’un, alright.” Duke was a mottled brown colour with black socks on each leg. He stomped one indignantly when he decided that Brynjolf was paying more attention to the conversation than to him. His ear twitched happily when his demands were met.

Sif removed the saddle and tack from her horse and draped it over the doorway, coming to stand beside the dwarf shortly afterwards. She offered Duke a tickle behind the ear. He chuffed appreciatively.   
“Is he one of ours or…?”   
“I wish I could afford him, but my caravan ain’t _that_ good yet. In fact, I’d ‘ave to sell the damned thing to make up even half of what he’s worth!”  
“It might not be my place to say so but… Well, have you spoken to Thor? I’m sure he’d quite happily convince the stablemaster to cut you a deal, as a friend of the crown, of course.”

“And ‘ave special treatment?” Brynjolf chuckled, patting the side of the animals’ head softly and stepping away from the wall of the pen. “You wound me.”  
“My apologies.” Sif bowed her head with an amused smile. “However, I’ve heard word that Thor is throwing a party. Were you considering attending?”  
“I might’ve been.”  
“Well, for once, the King of Asgard will not be the guest of honour. It’ll be the first party he’s thrown in which he’s not the centre of attention. The perfect time to ask.”

After parting with her advice, Sif bowed politely and exited the stable. Brynjolf paused a moment before following, slipping Duke a mint-flavoured chew from his pocket beforehand. He pondered the lady’s words all the way back to his room. Duke was a fine beast, it couldn’t be denied, but was he worth the investment? What a silly thought! Throwing everything away for a horse… There was still the matter of payment too, which was frankly quite simple. He could not afford it. End of story.

Forcing himself to be reasonable, Bryn cast the idea from his mind. He shut the bedroom door behind him with a tumultuous sigh and threw his cloak upon the bedspread. The maids had clearly been in again and he rolled his eyes at the thought. After heaving off one of his boots and tossing it under the desk, his eyes caught sight of the gift that lay waiting there. His face contorted in confusion. A leather pouch of gold coins sat atop a letter.

 _Dwarf,_  
I’m not in the mind of being indebted to anyone. Now my allowance has been settled, this is the money I owe you for that necklace, plus some accrued interest for your patience.   
It may also please you to know that I finally convinced her to see the healers. Stubborn woman was insistent that she needed no help, but you know how she can be. Good luck asking her how it went.   
Loki

Though pleased to hear news of your appointment with the healers, Brynjolf’s mind had jumped to other places. He licked his lips fervently as he began counting coins. It… It was almost enough! The only way he could make up the difference would be to… No, that was preposterous. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t making money; what would he do without his business? It was his livelihood!

Hunter. That was the first word to pop into his head. Truly, nobody was as good a shot as he; after all, he’d taught you everything you knew about Duchess. Maybe he could provide game for the palace kitchens! Ideas slowly began to spiral out of control. Ludicrous, but… workable. Brynjolf snatched up his shoe, and hopped back into the corridor as he tried to pull it back on. He had to speak to a man about a caravan!

* * *

 

The doors to the healer’s department took up the entire height of the wall. Tall. Slim. Golden. Each one bore painted figures, depicting the stories of miracle healers in action. Mostly Valkyries. One of the lavish doors opened a smidge, and you slipped out into the corridor. You kept a hand pressed to the metal as it closed behind you, hoping to avoid a tumultuous boom as they closed.

Your focus quickly returned to the bottle in your hand. It was midnight blue, with a tall thin neck and a glittering black liquid inside. Attached to the base was a label turned yellow with age that contained serving instructions, ingredients, and product longevity. The edge of the label curled upwards a little and you smoothed it down with your thumb as you read.

Loki leant up against the wall opposite, his hands in his pockets as he watched you. He greeted you politely, both announcing his presence and stealing your attention. When you smiled thinly in response, he chuckled.   
“It went well, then?”  
“About as well as it could have, I suppose. They’ve given me a tonic to take before bed.”

You passed the bottle to Loki whose brow creased as he read. As if it was the most natural thing in the world, his arm slid around your shoulders and the two of you walked casually through the corridors, practically joined at the hip.   
“And this should calm the nightmares?”  
“I don’t know about that,” you sighed. “Apparently there’s not much to ‘cure’. That will simply take time. However, that should put me into a deep enough sleep that I should no longer notice them. Or at least, no longer be woken by them…”

The premise clearly unsettled you. Knowing the bedside manner of the healers as he did, Loki could imagine they were hardly compassionate in the delivery of their diagnosis. Although dedicated and extremely knowledgeable, the women lacked a certain tact, he’d found.   
“I’m proud of you,” Loki said, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “It took a lot of courage to seek help about this issue, but you did so anyway.”

“You mean I _finally_ did so,” you said with a smirk.   
“I’m sorry?”  
“I know what you meant when you said you were proud of me. What you really wanted to say was, ‘ _I’m glad you stopped being boar-headed long enough to get help_ ’. Look, I know I’m better at helping others than I am at helping myself, and I’m sorry that it makes me difficult to handle.”

Loki laughed loudly.   
“It’s no secret that you’re a little meddlesome, love, but that doesn’t make you difficult.”  
“Oh, please.”  
“I am serious!” He chuckled. “Yes, you’re opinionated, and nosy, and domineering, and–”  
“If you have a point, Laufeyson, make it,” you snapped, shoving him playfully to the side with your shoulder. He faked an injury for a moment before continuing with a grin.

“You are all of those things and more, but that’s okay. I don’t mind that you need a little help from time to time, because… Well, I like to think I’m quite good at helping you.”

“Only you would find a way to turn my suffering into a pat on the back,” you scoffed. He waggled his eyebrows and leaned in.   
“Would you have me any other way?”

You sighed and stole a brief kiss.   
“Sadly, no.”


	50. Chapter 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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“Why aren’t you dressed?” Loki asked, folding his arms and begin to tap his foot lightly. You didn’t meet his gaze, licking your finger and turning the page of your book. Whereas Loki had begun mithering about his appearance half an hour ago, you were completely content to remain as you had done for the last two hours: reading your newest book in bed, wearing nothing but a silk white nightgown.

“Because unlike _somebody_ ,” you finally replied, “it doesn’t take me 3 hours to get ready. I have no need to start preparing yet.” Scoffing, Loki marched away to deal with the latter parts of his garb for the party that night. He also was in his loungewear – or at least half of it. Though currently shirtless, a pair of royal blue cotton trousers, tied loosely at the waist, fluttered gently as he meandered around the room, collating the various components for his outfit. Eventually, he disappeared into the bathroom to change in front of a mirror. He left the door open, however, to continue the conversation.

“3 hours, you say? I can assure you that I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Loki pulled a cotton white undershirt over his head, shimmied into a pair of trousers, and tucked the former item of clothing into the latter. You sniffed amusedly.  
“Loki, love, you can be… a little high-maintenance.”

Loki blinked at his own reflection. His mouth was partially open, aghast. His hands had stilled halfway around his waist. Him? High-maintenance? It seems you’d confused the term with ‘good taste’ or ‘sensible manners’. High-maintenance, indeed!  
“I do so love your sense of humour, darling.”

“Fine, play the fool if you must!” He heard you laugh from the bedroom. “It’s no less true. Ask Thor, or Brynjolf, or Fenrien, or Jarle, or Gertha, or-”  
“Yes, thank you, you’ve made your point.”

The two of you sustained casual conversation between rooms as Loki pieced together his clothing. After the undergarments were suitably wrinkle-free, Loki fastened a pair of braces to his belt and pulled the loops over his shoulders, turning around to admire his handiwork afterwards. By his good graces, the move revealed that his shirt had not been fully tucked at the back. How scandalous!

He quickly corrected the error before adding layer upon layer to his extravagant outfit. Firstly, his signature green and black leathers (to which he attached his cape), then a minimalist bronze breastplate, a pair of gauntlets, and his newly polished boots. Now for the finishing touch; all he needed was his helmet…

His helmet… What had he done with his helmet?

“Are you looking for your helmet?” You called from the bedroom, having noticed the pause in dialogue.  
“No!” Loki replied, albeit a little defensively. “I’ve got it right here.” The lie was blatant, but he didn’t care. He could’ve sworn that he’d brought in with him! Spinning multiple circles, cape billowing behind him, Loki searched and searched but just couldn’t spot it for the life of him. Why was everything in this insipid bathroom plated in gold?! Even if it was here, the damned thing would be camouflaged.

When he spun for the third time, Loki spotted you in the doorway and stopped to meet your gaze. A smug smile tugged at your lips, which Loki realised had been painted crimson. Make up aside, his eyes were drawn to the horned helmet that sat betwixt your hands.  
“Looking for something?” You asked, before tossing it across the room. He caught it with a frown.

Loki would’ve made a snide remark if he hadn’t quickly become distracted by something else. Your mouth wasn’t the only thing made-up; from the shoulders down, you were dripping in ebony. A bardot neckline revealed enough of your shoulders to set his imagination in motion, and lace sleeves hugged your arms all the way down to your wrists. Loki couldn’t believe that he’d be on one of those arms tonight. He suddenly felt the luckiest man alive.

Once again, you’d favoured a high-empire line that flattered your figure, the simple skirt dropping beautifully around your body. What caught his eye as he admired the material, however, was the slit in the side of the dress that revealed a tasteful view of your stocking-clad leg. If his mind hadn’t been in motion before…

The outfit was ornamented in silver. A silver band in your hair; silver rings and bracelets; even a silver ear cuff that spiralled around the curvature of your ear like it was the very branches of Yggdrasil. Finally, a few thin and glittering ribbons curled their way amongst the tresses of your hair.

“You’re…. _dressed_ ,” he stammered, following you out of the room with unconcealable excitement.  
“So kind of you to notice.”  
“How could I not?” He said, tilting his head. When you bent over to pick up the pair of matching black heels, he bit his lip and muttered a silent prayer. “You look… _exquisite_ , love. I will be the envy of every man in the room tonight.”  
“Be careful,” you purred. “That was almost a compliment.”

“Almost?” He laughed. “What would you have preferred me to say? That if I catch you dressed like this again I will ravish you where you stand?”  
“Loki!” You scolded, but equally unable to hide your laughter. His honesty was admittedly endearing, if in a lude sort of way.

“I cannot help it. I’m a man undone around you,” he said, approaching from behind as you leaned into the small mirror on his dresser and adjusted the band in your hair. Feeling his hand on your waist, you raised an eyebrow and looked at his reflection over your shoulder. “If we didn’t have somewhere to be, the things I would do to this dress.”

“Luckily,” you replied, standing upright and turning around, “we have somewhere to be.” You held out your arm and Loki’s expression soured.

“Shall we?”

* * *

The ballroom was filled to the brim with people. You’d never seen so much colour in all your life, a polychrome kaleidoscope, decorated in gold, silver, and bronze. Suddenly, you felt very bland in a black dress. It seemed, however, that you weren’t the only one who felt out of place.

“There are… many people,” Loki murmured. You looked up at him.  
“Are you alright? You ought to make an appearance, but we can disappear after that if it’s too much.”  
“It’s not that. It’s… Well, this is _my_ party. I expected a few sycophants to turn up, perhaps to try and seize the opportunity of a new man in the courts, someone else to suck up to, but this is… This is ridiculous.”

“That’s what is caught your tongue?” You chuckled. “You think everyone here is some brown-nosed court lackey?”  
“Yes. That’s the obvious explanation for these crowds.”

“So, am I some worthless sycophant, then?” You growled, placing your hands on your hips. Loki blinked, and turned to look at you with both confusion and concern.  
“What? Well, n-no, of course not.”  
“And my friends? Bryn, Fen, and Jarle?”  
“No.”  
“And _Thor_?”

“What is your point?” Loki asked, beginning to wonder why you’d made such a scene of his remarks. Was he not allowed to be simply displeased without receiving scrutiny? You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose briefly.  
“My point is… Although I doubt it is reserved to just that handful of people, there are some in this room who are here just because they want to be. Because they’re happy you’re alive. Because they’re happy that Thor is happy again. Or even just because there’s free alcohol available.” Loki smirked. You reached up and touched his cheeks kindly, positioning yourself in front of him as you spoke. His hands instinctively found their way to your hips. “Loki, you might not believe it, but it’s about time you heard it anyway: you are respected; you are loved; you are valued; and by nobody more than me.”

Loki smiled warmly. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard such things said about him – however, it was the first time he’d heard someone other than himself say them. It admittedly meant a lot. He could feel his guard dropping almost immediately. Perhaps this party wouldn’t be so awful after all. Loki leaned down and kissed you tenderly, grateful for the words of encouragement he’d neither asked for, nor felt he deserved.

Despite wishing he could stay by your side all night, Thor had insisted in his invitation that he be sought out upon Loki’s arrival, and so reluctantly, you were left alone shortly afterwards.

Almost instantly, the eyes of those nearby turned to study you, the strange village girl; for that’s what you’d become once again in the presence of all this opulence. You were nothing more than an imposter again.

Thus, the sight of a familiar face brightened your mood significantly.

Fenrien’s face also lit up when he saw you. He fought through the numerous crowds of people to reach you, waving all the while. As much as he’d enjoyed his escapades over the last few weeks, it felt as though you had not seen one another in so long. Too long. You threw your arms around one another, and squeezed tightly. When you finally parted, he was beaming.  
“Oh, look at you. A very classy lady indeed,” he commented, taking your hand and insisting that you give him a little twirl. When you obliged, his eyes caught sight of the slither of leg that was made visible. “I take it back! A little classy, but a little saucy too.” He winked. “I still approve.”

“And you aren’t looking so awful yourself!” You said, placing your hands on your hips. Fenrien agreed, electing to flaunt his attire to you. His outfit was simple but bold, and as he showed off each element, you could tell he was proud of it. Truly, the man could make a potato sack look scandalous if he was trying hard enough. However, he’d elected to wear something other than burlap that evening. A pair of hazelnut boots contrasted the dark grey trousers that were tucked into them. Over the top of a crisp black shirt, was an asymmetrical green cape which entirely encircled his shoulders.  
“Tell me again how fantastic I look,” he said, swishing the cape melodramatically.

You rolled your eyes.  
“Gosh I’ve missed you.” Pulling him in by the shoulders, you hugged him hard for a second time and felt him reciprocate with a chuckle. Over his shoulder, you spotted Jarle and Brynjolf making their way closer. The former wore a blue suit with tailed coat, and Brynjolf wore a simple silver breastplate underneath a long, fur-lined coat. Both men looked equally as smart as each other.

Once the pleasantries had been exchanged, you demanded stories, details, and answers from the lot of them. Questions pertaining to what everyone had been doing, and how everyone had been keeping were excitedly exchanged. Fenrien and Jarle didn’t have much to say in that way, ultimately both asking to be excused from the conversation for various silly reasons.

“You’re not going to leave too, are you?” You asked your remaining companion. Whatever had occurred between Fenrien and Jarle was their own business, but you don’t think you could take being on your own amongst strangers again.  
“Me?” Brynjolf replied. “Nah, not a chance.”

“Good,” you sighed. “Tell me then; have you kept well?”  
“As well as I’m able. I don’t suppose ye’ heard about the caravan.”  
“I saw Thor in passing and he said you’d tried to sell it back to him, but surely not!”

Brnyjolf clutched his breastplate as he laughed heartily.  
“It don’t sound like me, does it? Well, ye’ best believe it. I did. I actually did! I sold my damned livelihood, hah! Ha ha ha!” A few of the nearby aristocrats flashed Bryn a look of disgust as his laughter grew louder, and he began to hoot and holler. You had no intention of stopping him, if purely to spite them.

“But I don’t understand,” you said, once he’d finally settled long enough for you get a word in. “What are you doing now?”  
“Well, you just so ‘appen to be talking to one of the best damned hunters this palace has ever seen.”

You folded your arms and moved your weight onto the back foot, a single eyebrow raised. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe him, but you were certainly a little… sceptical.  
“A hunter? How did you manage that job?”  
“There was this ‘orse, see? He’s a fine beast, but he was too small to carry a person – well, a regular-sized person, ha! Gathered up the funds, bought the little fiend, and next thing ye’ know, I’m trading bed and board for pork and poultry.”

With a mild laugh, you covered your mouth in disbelief.  
“So let me get this straight, you changed your entire career, sold your caravan… for a pet?”  
“You ‘aven’t seen this horse, lady. He’s a beaut.”

Strangely enough, you were no longer as sceptical; this was _definitely_ a Brynjolf thing to do. Changing his whole direction in life because he’d gone a little soft? It wasn’t the first time.

In fact, the first time was a few months ago, in a secluded glade of the forest, when he’d rescued a young woman from bandits, brought her to safety, cared for her, and then stayed near enough that he could continue to visit…

* * *

 

Thor’s throne was at the head of the room, positioned on an elevated platform that lifted him above the eyeline of most people in the room. Standing from his seat, the monarch tapped a knife delicately against his glass multiple times, gathering the entire room’s attention. All eyes turned to him, including yours. Fenrien and Jarle had eventually returned to your side, though Loki had not. You didn’t doubt that this speech was what Thor had called him away for. He looked as a King ought to for an event such as this: drenched in gold and grandeur. The Warriors Three and the Lady Sif were stood beside him, watching their leader – their friend – prepare to speak.

“As you all know,” Thor began, “my brother has recently returned from what we assumed was death.” In true Loki fashion, he floated onto the platform fashionably late, although looking incredibly smug about it. He was greeted with hesitant but polite applause. Thor looked to Sif uncomfortably, but she silently entreated him to continue. They’d warm up. “I am most happy to have family by my side again. It brings me a joy that… Well, that I simply cannot put into words. Without going into abhorrent detail, I can assure you that the cause for Loki’s absence let him atone for his crimes against Midgard, crimes for which I consider him completely forgiven.

“With that in mind, an announcement regarding my brother is the reason you have all been invited here this evening. Firstly, I ought to thank you for your attending. The political pools have been swirling dangerously these past few weeks, but your attendance tonight has proved your steadfast loyalty to the crown; such loyalty is not easily repaid, but I will make a start by offering you my deepest, and sincerest gratitude.

“The announcement in question concerns his new appointment. Though he no longer holds any official claim to the throne, I would hereby declare him as royal advisor, and headmost member of the council.”

A few gasps were shared by some of the more elite members of the crowd, but your nervous stomach was grateful that everybody else remained silent. Jarle seemed to sense your unease and slipped his hand over yours, giving it a comforting squeeze. You flashed him a thin but appreciative smile. The last thing you wanted to witness tonight was the public ridicule of your beloved.  
“If nobody has any objections, then,” Thor concluded, “I invite my brother to say a few words.”

Judging by the way that Loki’s eyes widened, he hadn’t been expecting that. Thor held out the glass of wine and hesitantly, it was accepted. Your grip on Jarle’s fingers tightened further.  
“I… I’ll admit that I have no speech prepared,” Loki began, and you bit your lip. “However, as a renowned silver tongue, I fear I shall do just fine.”

A gentle thrum of laughter swum through the masses. It lifted your heart with hope.  
“As your King – my… my brother – rightly said, there is much gratitude to be bestowed this evening. However, I hope you’ll forgive me when I say that my gratitude will go to none of you.” Awkward silence filled the room, and your heart skipped a beat. What was he doing?! Could he not see that every single gaze in the room fell upon him? This was his moment of reckoning and he was going to blow it being _smart_. You wrenched your hand out of Jarle’s to cover your fallen face completely.

“No, I’m afraid, I cannot thank any of you for coming here tonight. For if I were not attending tonight, then neither would you be. And there is one person – and one person alone – who is responsible for my being here at all. It is to _her_ we should all be giving our thanks.”

No, you thought. No. Was he…? With your heart pounding loudly in your ears, and your breath completely halted, you lifted your gaze to peer over your fingertips. Sure enough, Loki had raised his glass in your direction. Even Thor, and his companions, were watching you fondly.

Loki murmured your name with a smile. Each head in the crowd slowly turned, and heat flushed your face with the speed of a forest fire.  
“This woman, ladies and gentlemen, is the reason we all stand here on this fine evening. Every single one of us. This woman is… Well, as someone very wise once said: she is loved, valued, and respected. This woman is treasured by all she meets, but by no one more than me.”

You broke into a watery smile, as Loki’s stolen words made your stomach twist in contentment.  
“So, I propose a toast, to the woman that brought us all here tonight. To the woman that brought Asgard together.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek as the hall erupted into choruses of your name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart by [@awkward-fangirl-artist](https://awkward-fangirl-artist.tumblr.com/post/170686690007/littlemisssyreid-finally-done-took-me-a-good-7):  
> 


	51. Chapter 51

“So you’re the woman that brought him back from the dead?”  
“Do you know I saw you at the speech Loki gave three weeks ago?”  
“I knew when I met you that you were important.”  
“I say, have we met before? Are you not a distant cousin of my brother-in-law’s friend?”  
“We should dine together some time. I dare say we’d be fast friends.”  
“You must invite me to the palace one day and we’ll talk more.”

Loki could hear each of the questions being thrown at you as he drew nearer. Despite being the guest of honour at this event, nobody seemed to care about his presence any more. The new person in court was no longer him; it was you. His speech had made sure of that.

When Loki finally pierced the dense crowd of people who’d taken to circling you (not unlike ravenous vultures, he noted), the look in your eyes told him you were grateful for his appearance. At some point, Fenrien and Jarle had disappeared, leaving Brynjolf as your only means of defence from the interrogation of your new ‘friends’.

You were being bombarded with questions left, right, and centre, without opportunity for escape. Despite your obvious discomfort, you were desperately attempting to keep up appearances, smiling politely, answering things as best you could, whilst simultaneously looking for a way out.

Loki stepped into the circle and found Brynjolf, bending over to whisper in his ear.   
“Forget civilities. Give us a distraction.”

They were the words he’d been waiting to hear. Too long had he been surrounded by stiff corsets and starch-filled cloaks. Too long he’d been trying to remain civil, for your sake. With a wickedly boisterous grin, Brynjolf shed his coat, and began swirling it in lavish circles around his head.   
“Back ye’ savages!” He roared. “Get back! Back, now, back!”

The startled crowds parted immediately, murmuring their surprise and disgust at the strange man’s behaviour; Loki was granted enough time to slip his arm around your waist and pull you to his hip. The pair of you dove amongst the waves of people and disappeared. Brynjolf continued to brandish his coat like a wild animal, roaring, growling, and snarling at any who would come near. Eventually, Thor spotted the commotion in the centre of the room and dispatched Sif to deal with it. She couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight.

“I’m feeling suddenly claustrophobic,” you chuckled, fanning your face as Loki continued to check that nobody had recognised you.   
“To the balcony then,” he declared, adjusting his course in favour of the tall glass doors that lay ahead of you both.

* * *

 

To say the fresh air helped you feel better was an understatement. You couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol, the exhausting socialisation, or the hot bodies that filled the room which had made you feel sick; either way, you were grateful for the open space and cool evening air.

Loki led you to the balcony railing, a thick and sturdy stone structure with beautiful carvings cut into the rock. It held both of your weight as you leant back upon it and sighed. The stars above glittered brightly, two of them in particular standing out against the black backdrop. You couldn’t help but think how familiar the sky looked tonight.  
“Are all royal parties like that?” You eventually asked, having caught your breath and quelled your nerves.  
“Somewhat,” Loki hummed in response. “But I always remember them having far less people.”   
“Yes, I think I’d have been more comfortable were there less toes for me to step on. Village parties don’t have that problem.”  
“Your village had far more problems that _population density_.” You shoved Loki playfully with your shoulder.

Given the formality of the event you were both attending, you were surprised how easily conversation flowed. Lifting yourself onto the stone wall, you let you your legs dangle slightly. Loki lowered himself beside you, and felt your head come to rest comfortably upon his shoulder. There you remained in blissful silence, until the sound of whispered conversation further away enlightened you to the fact that you weren’t the only couple outside. It seemed that another pair of lovers had decided to hide themselves from prying eyes.

“Do you see what I see?” You whispered, hopping back onto the stone patio and nudging Loki with your elbow. He followed your gaze and blinked rapidly. _  
_ “I…” Was he seeing what he thought he was seeing? “Why, yes, I do. An interesting development, to say the least.”

The door to the ballroom was situated at the balcony’s head. It stretched along the edge of the palace at least 50 feet before curving around the corner. Halfway along its length, backed against the building itself, sat a beautiful wooden bench, whose arms had become tangled with creepers and vines. Fenrien and Jarle sat together upon it, wistfully watching the view that the balcony afforded them. Jarle’s head was resting on his companion’s shoulder, their hands intertwined in the former’s lap. Both men looked completely at ease; they’d probably never had such a view before. Gentle conversation was shared from time to time, and you wondered what had caused them to steal away in one another’s company.

“Do you think they’re together?” you asked, only to have your question immediately answered. After Jarle had finished speaking of something, Fenrien appeared delighted with his words. He turned his head and placed his lips to the man’s cheek with the most content smile you’d ever seen upon a man.   
“I think it is a fair assumption, yes,” Loki chuckled, folding his arms.

Perhaps you’d been spending too much time in Loki’s company; perhaps he was having a bad influence on you. Whatever the reason, suddenly you could only see the situation as an opportunity.   
“They don’t appear to know we are here,” you murmured thoughtfully. You and Loki were now stood upright, watching the private moment unfold. “That’s… unfortunate.”  
“What are you proposing, love of mine? A game perhaps?”

“A game? Entertainment made out of this blissful and sweet moment being shared by our friends before our very eyes? You think I would suggest something so cruel?” Loki raised a singular eyebrow, and pressed his lips slowly to your bare shoulder.   
“What did you have in mind?”

* * *

 

When Fenrien and Jarle heard a loud and deliberate cough, they both froze. Neither one of them dared move a muscle, but equally they would have to move or risk being caught.

It was Fenrien who ultimately plucked up the courage.

He slowly leaned forward and peered towards the balcony doors. He grimaced. Both you and Loki were stood facing them. Your face was the picture of horror, but Loki’s was plain rage. Neither one of you looked especially happy about your discovery.

“It appears… we have been caught,” Fen whispered. Jarle risked a glance for himself and suffered the same stomach-dropping guilt that currently plagued his lover.   
“Perhaps… Perhaps if we just explain ourselves, it will be alright.”  
“I fear we have no choice.”

Loki was already striding towards the couple, his face perfectly contorted with ire. As Fenrien hopped to his feet, he decided that he didn’t fancy facing the man who marched closer. He patted Jarle on the back, wished him luck, and decided to try his luck at talking with you instead. Loki said nothing as he surpassed him.

You were chewing your lip when Fenrien arrived.   
“I… I don’t understand,” you stammered. “You and… and _Jarle_? You’re with my childhood friend after… after me?”   
“I promise it’s not what it seems,” Fenrien smiled charmingly. His took your hands into his own and squeezed.   
“It looks like–” You seemed to catch yourself before you could fill in the gaps, shaking your head and looking away for a moment. “No, no, it should be you to tell me. What is going on between you two?”

“Well, it’s… it’s just a business arrangement!” Your face dropped.   
“A business arrangement?”  
“Yes!” Fenrien decreed, leaping upon the opportunity. He hadn’t quite clocked onto the fact that your repetition was out of disbelief, not surprise. “Yes, Jarle has been teaching me how to navigate with the stars, so that when Brynjolf and I resume business once more, I’ll be able to do more than just _drive_ the caravan.”

“That’s interesting that you should say that,” you said with a frown. “Brynjolf told me this evening that he’d sold his caravan.”  
“He- He did?”  
“Yes. The other day in fact. I don’t doubt that as his business partner, you’d have been the first to know about this.”

As Fenrien struggled to grasp at straws, you risked a glance over his shoulder, to Loki and Jarle who were growling at one another quite passive aggressively it seemed. If you didn’t hurry this along, you were going to lose, and you weren’t about to allow that.   
“Just… Just tell me what’s going on,” you begged, hoping to appeal to his common decency. “Tell me the truth and I’ll do my best to understand.”

With a dejected sigh, Fenrien dropped his head. The tangle of blonde hair upon his head fell neatly over his eyes as he did so.   
“Very well, if you insist… Jarle and I are-”

Loki leapt to his feet and raised his hand in the air.   
“I win!”

“ _No!_ ” You exclaimed, ripping your hands out of Fenrien’s to pull at your hair as you spun around on the spot, cursing like a sailor. “No, I was so close. Heavens above, so close.”

Fenrien blinked hard, and turned to look at Jarle. The latter shrugged, following Loki at a trot as he waltzed back over to your side and began to tease.   
“Silly woman thought you could beat the silver-tongued trickster?” He chided, sliding his arms around you and pulling you closer. He wouldn’t let his teasing go unheard, no matter how hard you covered your ears and protested. “Not a chance!”

“I… I don’t understand,” Fenrien said, beginning to grow a little hot under the collar with frustration. Eventually, Loki permitted you a moment’s respite and you turned to face your friends with folded arms.   
“We wanted to see who confessed first.”  
“Or rather,” Loki interrupted, pinching you in the ribs slightly. He wouldn’t let you undermine his victory with a diluted explanation of the game, “who could _convince_ you to confess first.”

Jarle’s face was the picture of upset. Wide eyes. A quivering bottom lip. His focus snapped from Loki, to you, to Loki again. The latter held up his hands.   
“Look not to me, boy. The teasing was all her idea for once.”

“But… But you looked so upset!” He stammered back, partially covering his open mouth with his trembling fingertips.   
“Well, you wouldn’t have tried to hide anything if we’d seemed understanding about the whole thing. We had to ensure that the game would be played by more than just us.”

“So you’re not mad? After Fenrien and you were-”  
“Why would we be mad?” You smiled, stepping forward and pulling your childhood friend into a warm embrace. “Fenrien and I were never anything. If you two want to fool around then-”

“It’s more than that,” Fenrien said boldly, puffing out his chest and catching your attention. Now was not the time for modesty. He had a point to make. “It may have begun that way, but we are no longer just sleeping with one another. I… I have a great deal of feelings for this man.”

Loki rolled his eyes, with the tiniest of smiles. If it hadn’t been for his own situation, he’d have sooner wretched at such words. You looked twice as pleased as before, gasping theatrically and covering your mouth.   
“I just thought you were sleeping together, I didn’t realise you were in love!”  
“It might seem unlikely, and I’ll admit it took me while to get used to the idea, but it’s no less true. I do… love, Jarle. And he loves me.”

Biting your lip to conceal your excitement, it was Fenrien who was next pulled into a tight hug. He rubbed circles into your back, thinking your affection most gracious. However, his expression wavered when you whispered into his ear:  
“Break his heart, Fenrien, and I will break your kneecaps.”


	52. Chapter 52

When you returned to the ballroom, the questioning quickly resumed. Thankfully, this time, Loki was by your side, guiding your answers and teaching you at the same time. It seemed you’d inadvertently begun studying how to politely tell people to fuck off.

“So, you’re the woman that brought his back from the dead?”  
“Implying he was dead when I found him, madam, which he was not.”

“Do you know I saw you at the speech Loki gave three weeks ago?”  
“Most people did, seeing that the invitations were city-wide.”

“I knew when I met you that you were important.”  
“Thank you. And you are?”

“I say, have we met before? Are you not a distant cousin of my brother-in-law’s friend?”  
“I think I’d remember somebody like you, sir. In fact, I’m sure of it.”

“We should dine together some time. I dare say we’d be fast friends.”  
“Oh, thank you, but I think I’m ill on that day.”

“You must invite me to the palace one day and we’ll talk more.”  
“I agree. In fact, let us stop speaking now lest we run out of future conversation.”

A ceasefire was finally declared when Thor announced to the room that dinner would be promptly served. Everybody obediently filtered into the corridor, nothing but hungry stomachs on legs. The dining hall was just as large as the ballroom, if not more so. A tall ceiling with dark polished glass let in a little moonlight and a view of the stars; tall, wrought iron candlesticks were dotted about the room, casting a golden haze upon the beautiful crimson curtains that hung either side of the tall windows.

The floor was barely visible under the four cherry wood tables that stretched from the foot of the room to the head. Either side of each were chairs and stools and seats of differing quality. The palace must have gone all out to accommodate the influx of guests. At the top of the room, once again raised upon a platform, was one last table, the border of which was ornamented with a throne and a few other grand seats.

Loki pulled out a chair for you to sit in, before placing himself to your left. Fandral was on his other side, whilst you were accompanied by Brynjolf. The latter had barely been seated a second before helping himself to a goblet of wine and pouring it down his throat.

The woman who positioned herself opposite you quickly drew attention. Extravagant hair, an exquisite outfit, and an aura of sophistication that made you feel the size of a pea. However, her smile was warm, and her eyes were kind.   
“Lady Montilyet,” she said, reaching across the table to extend a perfectly manicured hand. “I shall not overwhelm you with intrusive questions, my dear. I’m sure you’ve endured enough of those this evening.”  
“Your restraint is greatly appreciated.”

Montilyet was a striking woman. The look in her eye would undoubtedly strike fear into the hearts of even the most resolute men. She was a beautiful slender black woman with the fashion sense of a queen and the air of a goddess. Her updo was perhaps the most captivating thing about her. It looked as though it had life of its own as it sat upon her head, the colour of freshly spilled wine, delicately wrapped in ribbons and sparkle. Everything from the eloquence of her speech to the posture with which she sat drew you to her. Lady Montilyet was grace and class personified – charismatic and elegant – but equally guarded and enough of a threat to make you nervous.

“How are you enjoying this evening’s festivities?” She asked, lifting the jug of wine to pour herself a drink.   
“I admit,” you muttered nervously, tucking some hair behind your ear,” I do not know what to do with myself at times. This is very different to the… _soirees_ that I’m used to.”

Loki had leant away from you at some point, conversing with Fandral quite happily. By the sounds of it, they were debating the success of the evening, as well as gossiping about some of the lords and ladies they’d encountered. Without his intervention, you felt a little lost. How did you speak to someone like Lady Montilyet? If she was important enough to sit at the head table, she was worth impressing.

However, the smile she trained upon you seemed to indicate you hadn’t made a fool of yourself… yet.   
“The most helpful advice I ever had for this sort of occasion was to always have a drink in hand. The alcohol keeps your countenance easy, but holding the glass also stops oneself from fidgeting. Just keep it in your non-dominant hand, for handshakes and such.”  
“That’s very kind of you to advise me. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

Lady Montilyet bowed her head respectfully. Although duty forbid her from saying it aloud, she rather liked you. One of Lady Montilyet’s most formidable talents was her judge of character. She prided herself on being able to assess a person’s disposition in one conversation or less; her current record stood at three words.

Although she couldn’t understand why you and the youngest prince were so fond of one another, she decided that it wasn’t her place to pry. Whatever the circumstances were that had brought you two together, she decided that a strong woman around him might just be the influence he needed.

Montilyet was no stranger to the antics of the trickster. Not only was she an esteemed member of Thor’s current council, but had been present on Odin’s as well. She’d watched the boys grow into men; Lady Montilyet knew better than most what each was capable of.

Sure enough, Loki’s wickeder tendencies gradually surfaced over the course of the meal. The main course was being served at their peak and, whilst the servers busied about the table, Loki took the opportunity to slip his hand onto your thigh.

Loki’s fingertips were freezing. Or at least, you reasoned that the temperature was why you’d jumped at his touch. Lady Montilyet had been dabbing the edge of her mouth with a handkerchief when you flinched. She paused to enquire after your startled expression.   
“Sorry, I… I…” Though he wasn’t leaning away nearly as much, Loki was still facing Fandral, the back of his head on the receiving end of your fierce glare. “It was nothing. Just a… pain in my side.”

Lady Montilyet raised a well-groomed eyebrow.   
“Of course…”

At first, Loki’s hand did nothing. It simply remained. As his conversation with Fandral came to a close, he sat properly in his chair, no longer leaning to the left. Despite the proximity, he still didn’t utilise the opportunity such contact provided. You began to think that perhaps he was simply offering comfort in the company of a councilwoman but each time he moved his palm a little, your nerves were shot once again. Even though he wasn’t looking at you, it was like Loki could still see your face – the widening eyes; the softly bitten lip; the frequently furrowing brow. Somehow, he was reading you just from the touch of you.

When his hand slipped underneath the skirt of your dress, you thoroughly regretted giving him the benefit of the doubt. You also regretted your choice of clothing. It had evidently been a bad idea waiting to happen.

Lady Montilyet delicately placed a piece of fish into her mouth and sighed contentedly. She never failed to enjoy her meals at the palace.   
“How are you finding the food, my dear?” She asked you with a genteel smile. “Is it to your liking?”

Loki’s fingers toyed with the edge of your underwear. His free hand stirred food around his plate.   
“It’s very nice, yes,” you stammered, having lost all the other words in your vocabulary. Montilyet’s hair shivered as she turned her head to face your companion.   
“And you, your highness? How are you finding the food?”

Loki’s hand stilled for a moment – caught off guard by being addressed – and you breathed the smallest sight of relief. Though frozen, however, Loki’s hand did not retreat. Once again, _it remained._ It remained even as he engaged in small talk.   
“I’m practically drooling, madam. An excellent evening. Thank you for asking.”

The gall of this man!

Just as soon as he’d finished speaking, his hand regained life, and a slender index finger slid slowly between your legs. You cleared your throat loudly, negating a gasp that would’ve jumped free of your lips otherwise. Mortification forced heat upon your face. You couldn’t even begin to describe how inappropriate this felt.   
“Are you alright, my dear? You look a little… pensive.”  
“I- I- I think I’m just feeling a bit flushed. Am I the only one who is slightly warm?”

Loki’s hand quickly got to work. There was trepidation in your voice; he knew he was losing time, and the game had only just begun. You exhaled loudly and gripped the arms of your chair a little harder. Loki’s face was the picture of concern, perfectly practiced and elegantly trained upon your reddening face. However, the twinkle in his eye was all too familiar to you. Wicked.

As Montilyet leaned back to signal that a server bring a glass of water to the table, Loki leaned into your ear. His teeth grazed your earlobe. Goosebumps prickled up the side of your neck.   
“Moan for me. Make a sound. _Anything_.” As he slipped one in, Loki’s fingers brushed your most sensitive spot. “I dare you. Let me hear you.”

A server suddenly arrived behind you, a pitcher of water in hand, and Loki was forced to feign innocence. He placed the back of his hand upon your head and declared to your spectators that you were ‘incredibly hot’.

Brynjolf had turned to face you at this point, worry laden in his eyes.   
“Could it be the food? Not to yer taste?” He suggested. Lady Montilyet hadn’t realised you knew the dwarf, and she regarded the scruff looking man with a frown. Despite his rugged appearance, he did make a fair point.   
“Is that it, my dear? Has supper disagreed with you?”  
“Oh, _something_ is disagreeing with me,” you growled, clutching the edge of the table fiercely when Loki’s fingers suddenly curled.

A tremble set into your bones as Loki began a steady pumping motion. Moisture surfaced around his fingers, like the movement of his fingers was beckoning it out. He was teasing and toying, the fluids of your pleasure making it all too easy. The curvature of his fingers fit perfectly amongst your folds. Oh, how he wished he could see just how wet you were…

In stories such as these, the heroine oft has the practice or resilience to withstand these sorts of attentions. Perhaps she sips at her wine with a little tremor in her hand. Perhaps her toes curl in her shoes, and her bosom heaves a little more than usual.

You, however, did not have this luxury, having never been exposed to anything of the like.

It wasn’t a fair fight at all, but Loki was enjoying himself too much to care. You cleared your throat again, trying to control yourself, but it turned into a breathy growl. The noise was tantalising close to what Loki longed to hear, a whisker away. His efforts persisted a little harder, and all breath escaped you in a humongous gasp. Your grip on the tablecloth tightened.

“I fear she is truly unwell,” Montilyet declared. “I’ll call for the healers.”  
“No!” You said, a little louder than you’d intended. Loki’s hand paused fleetingly. “No, please, I’ll be f-f-fine. I simply need rest.”

Lady Montilyet raised her eyebrow yet again. Her gaze flickered between your face and Loki’s, and suspicions were born. The latter noticed, and his focus faltered. After clearing his throat… Loki retracted his hand.

“Yes, I agree,” he ultimately declared, taking a napkin from the table and discreetly wiping his hands. “If you’ll excuse us, my lady, I will escort her to bed. Please enjoy the rest of the evening without us. Thank you for coming.”

Loki placed his hands under your elbows and raised you onto your feet. Once suitably held against his hip, you were escorted from the platform, down amongst the rows of other diners, and towards the exit. Montilyet waited for a moment, pondering what she’d seen and running a finger around the edge of her glass, before excusing herself and following you towards the door. She caught a hold of Loki’s collar before he could escape, halting him in his tracks. As suspected, you couldn’t bear to face her, curtseying politely before wobbling out of the lavish doorway.

“I think it’s lovely that you are two are still acting like lovestruck sweethearts,” Montilyet smiled acidly when she’d gained Loki’s attention. He looked her up and down, the grip on his clothing having loosened a little but her fierce stare fixing him in place instead. _  
_ “Thank you, my la-” __  
“But next time try to be a little more conspicuous, will you? Allow the poor girl to save face.”

With wicked slowness, a grin spread upon Loki’s face like it was the calculated unfurling of a hunting cat’s tail. He’d never been so pleased to be caught. “And where would be the fun in that?”  
“You play an intricate game, Laufeyson,” she smirked, folding her arms. “The courts have not missed it.”  
“I shall see you in the council meeting tomorrow, Lady Montilyet,” he replied with a wink, before bowing curtly and following you out of the room.

* * *

 

By the time Loki had caught up, you’d already reached his quarters, politely leaving the door open for him despite your dubious mood. Judging by the shaking in your gait, your balance was questionable; arousal had tainted your composure.  
“I hope you’re pleased with yourself,” you growled, throwing open the bedroom doors and storming inside. Loki shut the main doors behind him and followed suit.   
“I am, quite.”

Grabbing your wrist, he spun you around and pulled you sharply closer. He delighted in how your hand instinctively touched his hip to steady yourself. Your eyes flickered down his body.   
“So, it was worth it then? Worth humiliating me in front of everybody present?”

There was something about the fire in your eyes that stoked the feeling Loki felt in his chest. He was perfectly aware of what the feeling was; what he lacked was the capacity to act upon it. He wondered if you could be convinced to let him continue what he’d begun at the dinner table…   
“Me, darling? Humiliate you? I would never…” He purred. You scoffed.   
“I _moaned_ in front of a grand councilwoman, Loki.”

“Yes, love, you did, and it was exquisite, I assure you.” Loki tilted your chin up and planted his mouth atop your own. You could feel lust on the edge of his tongue, but you forbid it, pulling away at the last second and feeling him stumble forward in search of your lips.

“You’re ridiculous,” you smirked, turning away with a gently bitten lip and beginning to pull the decorations from your hair. As you disappeared into the bathroom to disrobe, you pulled the vine-like cuff from your ear.   
“Are you upset?” Loki called after you as he sat himself upon the edge of the bed to remove his boots. As much as he’d enjoyed himself tonight, he’d been on his feet far too long and they were letting him know about it.

He heard you sigh curtly.   
“No, I… I suppose not. Though a little warning would be appreciated next time."  
"Next time? I have permission to act thusly again, do I?"   
"I- N-No! That's not what I meant!"

After a brief chortle, Loki allowed the conversation to move on. As fun as it was to tease you, he wouldn’t get anywhere by tormenting you.   
"I notice you weren't wearing my necklace tonight."  
"No, I wasn’t. I didn’t want to risk losing it so soon after you’d given it to me. It means too much to me for that.”

“I’m flattered.”  
“I thought you might be,” you chuckled, and he could picture the amused smile you’d adopted. “If you’d like, though, I can wear it now for you.”  
“Just the necklace?” He replied with a cocked eyebrow and a mischievous smile. “Nothing else?”

Loki had intended his comment to be in jest, hopefully flooding your cheeks with heat, as was often the case when he made innuendo out of regular conversation. Hence his surprise when you replied:  
“Why don’t you come in here and find out?”

The bathroom doors burst open. Loki practically fell into the room, hair flailing frantically as he searched left and right for you. When he heard you sniff, his wide eyes turned. The necklace hung from the end of your finger, swinging to and fro provocatively. Even worse, you were still fully dressed. _  
_ “Ah, Loki,” you muttered with a smug grin. “So predictable.”

Loki didn’t know how to feel at that point. He’d been tricked. Conned! And how dare you say he was predictable. You’d used his desire against him and it was… unheard of. Was he to feel angry or aroused? Was he irritated or impressed? He feared it would be a mixture of both.

“I don’t like to be toyed with,” Loki growled, his twinkling eyes drinking in your form as it leant against the tiled bathroom wall. You furthered your torture by fastening the necklace in place. The pendant hung in just the right place beneath the plunge in your dress’ neckline…   
“Oh, I’m sorry, but I thought you were the god of mischief and trickery.”  
“I am,” Loki replied. He edged nearer and nearer, delighting in the sight of your breath catching as you were backed up completely. You found yourself pinned in place by nothing more than his lascivious glare. “However, that means I’m a master at _orchestrating_ deception. I’m not especially fond of being on the receiving end of it.”

“No? Then what are you going to do about it?” You asked, feeling your pulse begin to rocket as Loki leaned fully over you. His eyes were dark and blown with desire. No attempt was made to hide the way they pored over your gown-clad body. His tongue darted out across his lips, and he laughed lightly as the left corner of his mouth tugged upwards.   
“I’ll do what I always do when things don’t go my way: punish those responsible.”  
“And exactly how are you going to punish me, might I ask?”

Placing his hands on the wall either side of your head, Loki leaned in with the most devilish of smiles, grazing your ear with his mouth. His breath was warm, and he chuckled lowly when he saw the goose bumps that sprung forth on your skin.   
“However I want to.”


	53. Chapter 53

The first and only time you and Loki had slept together, it had been a gentle affair. Soft. Slow. Nervous. Fumbling fingers, and sweetly whispered words.

Somehow, you got the impression that this time would be nothing like that.

Every move that Loki made was bold and assured. Dominating. Commanding. He knew what he wanted, and this time he was taking it. You considered protesting a little, and giving him something to work for, but there was only so much of a fight you could put up when his hips began to roll against yours. His mouth steadily worked against your own, rampant, impatient breaths bursting from his nose like he was a dashing stallion. Hot, raw breaths escaped him between kisses; his excitement was infectious. Your fingers dove amongst the waves of his hair and pulled him ever closer.

“The things I shall do to you,” he panted as his lips moved to your neck, “would make devils blush.”   
“Tell me, Loki,” you sighed. “Tell me what you’ll do.”

He chuckled darkly.   
“Good things to those who wait, love…”

Loki was careful to not become overexcited. A risk last time; a threat now. Were he to have his way, the skirt would’ve been ripped right off of you. He would have fucked you hard and fast, right against this dismal bathroom wall. He’d have made you say his name until your throat was hoarse. He’d have made you come as many times as your beautiful body could bare.

But no… Not this time. Patience was a necessity, if he was to teach you a lesson. Nobody tricked the God of Trickery.

Loki paid careful attention to the flesh of your neck. Suckling. Kissing. _Biting._ Oh, he enjoyed biting you very much. The twisting in his stomach was worsened by the thought of the bruises it would leave behind. People would see them, perhaps, and know who’d left them behind. People would know who you belonged to.

Taking a fistful of your hair, Loki pulled your head aside to grant himself better access. You whimpered pleasantly and bit your lip as a trail of pink was lain upon your skin. A feeling of powerlessness that settled into your stomach as Loki pressed you firmly into a wall, pulling you this way and that. He had the freedom to do whatever he pleased with you. No escape. No questions.

There was a certain thrill associated with it. Would he treat you kindly? Or did he intend to teach you a hard lesson? Your heart pounded at the latter thought. You quickly realised that there was fun to be had in letting someone else have control.

However, when his fingers crawled along your collarbone and wrapped themselves around your neck, the fun stopped. Panic set into your brain. Loki felt you stiffen and immediately paused. When you squirmed uncomfortably, he quickly pulled his hand away. He’d missed something. The noise that you’d made felt different. Wrong. You weren’t happy.   
“Too much?”   
“I’m sorry, I…” You cleared your throat and bowed your head. Loki was still a little breathless but no longer concerned with anything other than you.

You, whose eyes were guilt-ridden as they turned away. You, who suddenly seemed to fold in on yourself. What had he done?    
“You can tell me,” Loki softly assured you. Whatever it was that had given you pause had also rattled you quite significantly. He needed to be sure that he didn’t make the same mistake again, if only for his own peace of mind.

Loki took to running the back of his fingers up and down your shoulder, hoping to coax a little confidence from you, which seemed to work. Though shakily, you exhaled and began to speak.   
“When the bandits took me, they knocked me out by- by- by putting a bag over my head. They suffocated me, and my throat is just… It’s, uh–”  
“Say no more,” he said. Now it made sense. A foolish mistake on his part. “It won’t happen again.”

He could blame his forgetfulness on the heat of passion but ultimately, Loki should’ve known better. There was no way you’d enjoy everything that he did; fun ought to come first.

Placing his hands either side of your face, Loki tilted your head down and planted a kiss atop your head. It was delicate and slow. Tentative. Much like last time, he’d suddenly softened. He was worried that he’d hurt you. The thought reassured you substantially. After all, he’d not meant to hurt you, nor had he. You found yourself smiling warmly as your head came back up.

Loki had ulterior motives behind his gentle affections, however. He might’ve been apologetic, but he also wanted you to know you were safe with him. He’d never let you be taken again, nor would he ever let anybody lay a finger on you. No matter how it looked, he would never hurt you for his own pleasure. He needed you to know that he’d heard you. He’d listened.

Whether or not you got all of this from one timorous caress, Loki couldn’t say. That being said, it didn’t appear to have done any harm either. Your fingers curled into his hair once again and pulled his lips closer.

At first, he protested, worried that you only persisted for his sake. However, every time he insisted that you take a break, his concerns were smothered with kisses. Eventually, Loki gave in. After all, there was only so much of a fight that he could put up against your scorching touch. He eventually relented and let his attentions regain their fire. Soon enough your back was flush against the tile once again.

Loki felt your knee knock against his hip as you tried – and failed – to put a leg around him. The action only served to pull his waist closer. The tent in his trousers was pulled firmly between your legs and, almost instinctively, Loki found himself grinding against you. Only once, mind, but it was enough. Fabric rubbed against fabric; a gasp escaped your lips; Loki grunted – and then stopped. He blinked and shook his head, pulling his hips slowly back. Was he that desperate? Had his desires been drawn out so easily?

He blinked rapidly, and tried to stop his mind wandering, wandering to the thought of abandoning his resolve and fucking you with every ounce of strength he still possessed. Pressing his face back into your neck, he let himself drink in the smell of you, beautiful and lustful.   
“Someone is eager,” he purred, pretending that he was not also guilty of passionate greed. You tugged on his hair, wanting his mouth back on yours. When he resisted, however, it only added kindling to his passions. “No, love, I think I will make you wait for that particular satisfaction, much as it pains me.”

The skirt of your dress was all but forgotten about as Loki’s hand manoeuvred underneath it, palming at the flesh between your legs. He chuckled lowly when he felt no fabric there to stop him. No underwear.   
“Oh, yes, someone is _most definitely_ eager.”

Despite knowing that you’d intentionally removed your underwear, the act of being called out bled warmth onto your face. It trickled down your throat and dropped into your stomach when Loki slipped two fingers inside you. He watched your face with dark, focused eyes. For every twist and turn of his fingers, there was sign of it to be seen. The wrinkle in your brow; the shape of your mouth; the colour of your cheeks. It was like he played the most beautiful sounding instrument in the world.

“Sing for me, love,” he whispered, entreating you with a kiss upon your collarbone. “Do for me now what you denied me before.”

It was the sweetest music ever to grace Loki’s ears. He couldn’t help the filthy smile that overtook his features as your head hit his shoulder to try and cope. Sighs and moans were released into the material of his eveningwear. It spread a warmth through him that he couldn’t fight.

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered, sucking air through your teeth in a sharp hiss. Loki curled his fingers again and felt your body falter with pleasure, the hands on his shoulder blades tightening their grip substantially. You swore for a second time – and Loki found himself drunk on the sound. Using his free hand, he gripped the back of your hair and pulled your head back up, laying a wet, open kiss on your swollen lips. You’d bitten them into submission, completely at his request, and the thought only made the kisses sweeter.

Raucous breaths fell upon your cheek as the sight of your arousal worsened Loki’s own affliction. He panted heavily as he felt all his blood rushing south.

The flower between your legs had bloomed in his hand. Loki’s fingers played with dew-covered petals. Touching. Stroking. Drawing out your nectar from the tender folds. His hand made steady work of you, and – whenever he wanted a reaction – he’d let his thumb graze over the bud in the centre of the flower.

That’s when you’d say his name.

Depending on how long he touched the flower’s stigma, and how hard, your volume would vary. Sometimes he could draw out a whimper, other times he was permitted only a husky groan. Both were as wonderful as each other, but for very different reasons. It took a lot of his strength not to abuse this power.

After all, it could be so easy. With enough pressure and persistence, Loki knew he could have you spilling over his hands like a woman gone wild. Once. Twice. Three times – or more. Had he wanted to, he could have made you scream and shake. He could have forced sweat onto your skin, and a shiver into your bones. He could make your knees weak and his palms wet. All it would take is a little-

“Fuck,” you cried, when his fingers grazed just the right spot. Pleasure erupted through you – and was swiftly denied before it could peak. In fact, Loki withdrew his fingers entirely. The knots in your stomach had been tightening tenfold and you didn’t doubt he knew that. The look in his eyes – a sparkle of evil – said that this was all just a part of his game. He was playing you, like it was chess. Building you up, but never finishing.

“Beg me for it,” he said, pinning you against the wall again. He bowed his head into the crook of your neck, teeth ghosting over the curvature of your neck. You smelled of perfume and salt, sweat corroding the sweet fragrance you’d sprayed upon yourself. You curved to accommodate him, and that brought another smile to his face. Loki continued palming between your legs, but this time conservatively, offering his touches through the material of your dress instead of truly touching you. He could feel the moisture seeping through your skirt. Just how wet had he made you exactly?

“I- I- I want you to… to…”  
“Yes, darling, say it for me. Tell me what you want me to do.”

You cleared your throat, and tried to plead, but the thrum of warm pleasure generated in your core had slurred your speech. When Loki’s hand moved just the right way, a wave of it washed over you, pulling your eyelids down and tilting your head swiftly back.

Your head smacked against the bathroom tiles, and you immediately clutched the source of your pain with a scowl. “Ow, shit.”

When he heard you swear and hiss, Loki looked up and, realising what you’d done, chuckled. There’d be nothing more than a bruise, but nonetheless, he decided to finally stop teasing, shaking his head with a fond smile as he said:   
“Very well, darling, you’ve convinced me.”

Loki stepped backwards and steadily lowered himself to the ground. His gaze never wavered, holding you still with nothing but a glance. He only stopped when he was on his knees before you, his head at waist-height and his fingers ghosting over the sheer fabric surrounding your thighs. You could feel him stroking alluring circles into your stockings as he spoke.   
“You see, love,” he began to explain, looking up at you with eyes that – on anybody else – might’ve looked innocent, “a king’s rightful place… is on his knees before the queen.”

Moving swiftly, your skirt was promptly pulled over Loki’s head, concealing him from view completely. The only sign of his presence was the baited breaths you could feel releasing warmth between your legs. You could not see Loki; you could barely hear Loki. All you could do was… wait.

At first, all he had in store for you was more teasing. You felt him duck to kiss just above your knee, dragging his mouth slowly north and laying wet kisses as he went. It felt like he was enjoying himself far too much. There was a tremble in your bones that you didn’t doubt he’d noticed. You wondered if he was touching himself whilst granted a little privacy…

The perk to Loki’s… _technique_ was that it left much to the imagination. Your fantasies and racing thoughts were almost enough to finish you off entirely, worsened only by Loki fulfilling each and every one of them. The downside, however, was that you could not anticipate any surprises. You could not see where Loki’s head swerved to, where his eyes wandered.

Thus, when his tongue grazed along the supple skin of your inner thigh, the shock caused your knees to wobble precariously.

You could feel his hot breath between your legs, reddening your face quite fiercely. Sure enough, Loki’s mouth suddenly appeared upon your lips, swollen hot flesh meeting a cool tongue. The surprise alone was enough to draw a gasp from your bosom. Loki chuckled lowly.

Heat bled into every cell of your body, easy and smooth. You could feel the lust dripping off of you in beads of sweat – and other things. The risk of your knees giving out had already been substantial. Now, though, it was a very real concern. With nothing but the walls around you to grip at, if your legs gave out, there was nothing stopping you from tumbling to the ground.  

Loki must’ve noticed your lascivious state. Perhaps you’d quivered in places that only he could see. Perhaps you were growing wetter with every second. Either way, no matter how he’d discovered your volatile state, he abused it. He swept his tongue along the opening of your pussy, removing much of the evidence of his earlier torment.

With little other options, you grabbed the closest thing available to you: your hair. Styled tresses in one hand, you balled up the other and bit it to conceal a moan. So long as he was tucked safely away, there’d be no revealing to Loki that you were denying him the one thing he wanted to hear – and thus, no punishment for it.

Once again, Loki coaxed your covetousness. He tested your strength, stamina, and resistance in one motion. His tongue swiped over your folds, but this time delving a little deeper. His movements were careful and calculated, remaining swift but offering a little more temptation each time. With each sweep of his tongue, he offered a greater taste of what was to come. The teeth marks in your knuckles reddened. He was a cruel, cruel man!

Finally, Loki let his tongue run over your lips, this time slower. He abandoned use of the tip and instead licked you with the flat of his tongue, favouring it solely for the sounds that you made under its influence. It bore a far rougher texture, and as it grazed over your sweet, slick skin, it lured from your lips the longest and most beautiful of sighs.

That was all the encouragement Loki needed. He wasted no time and planted his mouth entirely over your slit, earning him a sharp gasp. His mouth made love between your legs, treating it as thought he painted a work of art; dedicated, focused, attentive to detail. Your innermost folds were suckled and licked; his tongue curled inside your deepest recesses; his hands gripped your hips with surprising strength, keeping you on your feet as his tongue fucked you relentlessly.

You wriggled and writhed, still only able to fist your hair with frustration. All reserve was abandoned, and a moan escaped your mouth. Loki duly rewarded you. Alongside a sigh of his own, he buried his face deeper between your legs. A long, wet kiss was planted inside of you that left his lips sweet and moist. You whispered Loki’s name and he began to eat a little more fervently. His hands gripped your ass, bringing his meal closer to a hungry tongue.

Then finally, Loki began to taunt and touch your clit. Each sensitive trace stole your breath away and replaced it with curses. Every muscle in your body tingled. Your skin burned. Your toes curled, searching for purchase on the slippery smooth floor.

Finally, after begging him for 2 minutes solid, Loki allowed you to come. Wrapping his lips around your clit, a single suck brought you racing over the finish line. All the strength in your body was replaced with pleasure, and whilst enjoyable, it did you leave you dangerously weak.

The skirt was ripped away from Loki as you toppled to the floor. You hit it hard but were completely ignorant to the pain on account of the latent gratification that still ebbed through your bloodstream. A lackadaisical smile had formed on your face, and Loki grinned at the sight of it (having finally untangled himself from your underskirt). As he crawled closer, the image of you lying before him, breathless and soft, brewed a wicked chuckle in his throat.

“Are you alright?” He asked, finally coming to kneel beside you.   
“Where…” You gulped heavily. “Where did you learn to do that?” You had collapsed onto your side, panting heavily and grateful for the cool embrace of the bathroom floor tiles. Hoping to encourage a little more moisture into your mouth, you licked your lips once or twice. It was unfortunately in vain. You were raw with passion and it showed, from the blown pupils to the timid smile on your face.

Loki leaned over you with an impish grin, capturing your lips from above and letting you taste yourself upon him. Your fingers slowly but surely found their way to his collar as it occurred to you that he was still painfully clothed. Though it would undoubtedly take some doing to get him out of this many layers, you would give it a damned good go.  
“Never you mind where I learnt such things,” Loki purred, pulling his lips away when he sensed your intentions. Your nose wrinkled at the foiling of your plan, and Loki quivered at the sight. Were you not yet satiated by him? How exciting…

“You are not suitably punished then?” He chuckled, finally helping you to your feet and holding you steady by your hips. Though you swayed precariously, you stood firm, allowing him to pull you sharply closer and growl in your ear. “Are you in need of further lessons?”

His words caught you completely by surprise and your open mouth stammered for a reply. Luckily, Loki hadn’t intended of giving you long enough to formulate one. He bent down, wrapped an arm around your thighs, and heaved you over his shoulder. You laughed loudly with surprise and beat your fists against his shoulders as he carried you back to the bedroom.

* * *

 

For such an expensive mattress, it didn’t feel especially soft. But then you imagined that there wasn’t a mattress which _could_ feel soft when one was landing upon it so… roughly. Loki had thrown you down upon the bed without qualm, intending to crawl on top of you and have his wicked way. However, you sat up before he’d made it halfway up the bed, pressing a finger to his lips to still advances.

“Oh no you don’t,” you chuckled, stealing a peck from his bottom lip to keep him momentarily quiet. “You’re not getting anything until I see what you saw.”  
“I don’t understand,” Loki replied, moving his lips to your neck. Though admittedly very persuasive, his attentions were in vain. You did not relent. Instead, you pulled his head back using a fistful of dark hair, delighting in the mixture of surprise and arousal that spread across his features.

“Disrobe,” you commanded. “ _Now_.”

Loki couldn’t say what it was that convinced him to obey. Perhaps it was the ferocity in your eye; perhaps it was the way you gripped his hair, permitting him no choice in the matter. Or perhaps it was the far more likely circumstance that he _adored the idea of you taking over_.

Although he had no intention of telling you about it (as if he’d give you that satisfaction) there was a part of him that incredibly enjoyed this dominant side of you. Doing as he was told, Loki clambered out of your lap and got to his feet at the bedside.

You seated yourself more comfortably to spectate the show as he began to loosen fastenings, undo buttons, and gradually discard layers upon layers of clothing. When his undershirt shirt was pulled slowly upwards, revealing his abdomen, you instinctively tilted your head, and bit your lip. Drinking in the sight of him, vulnerable and… voluptuous. It was obvious from his speed – or lack thereof – that he was giving you a little performance, but you weren’t about to complain.

“Does this please you?” He finally asked, holding his bare arms wide and turning in a circle. He’d not granted you the honour of seeing anything naked aside from his torso, but that was also partly because he knew you’d enjoy the view of him in nothing but a pair of leather trousers. He wasn’t wrong either. They worked wonders.

That being said, you weren’t entirely happy. Not yet.   
“Use my correct title,” you growled, kicking your legs over the edge of the bed and slowly getting to your feet. Still dressed in stockings and a newly wrinkled black dress, the fluidity of the motion had exactly the effect upon him that you’d intended.    
“I beg your pardon?” Loki asked, and lifting his eyes from your legs with a singular eyebrow raised. Sauntering closer, your hands finally came to rest on his hips, fingers gently pressing into the cool flesh just above leather.

“You called yourself a king earlier, but that’s not correct.” It wasn’t unlike you to be so bold, but it startled Loki nonetheless and he swallowed tentatively. His eyes risked a glance lower, to where your crimson lips curved up in a devilish smirk. “That’s not your title. These days you’re nothing more than a glorified lord. That technically makes me a lady. I’ve never been _a lady_ before, but I think I like the sound of it.”

Clutching his belt suddenly and firmly, you pulled his hips closer.   
“So, when I say use my title…” You fluttered your eyelashes and leaned in to whisper in his ear.

Loki cleared his throat and looked away. Was that a blush he could feel crawling up his neck? No, that would be silly. _He_ didn’t blush.   
“Does… Does this please you, _my lady_?”

You smiled and bit your lip. Somehow you decided that you could easily get used to this.   
“Much better, yes.”

The tables had been turned quite dramatically, but Loki wasn’t opposed to it in the slightest. He allowed you to overpower him, pushing him back down on the bed and straddling him. You leaned over to kiss him, cupping his face within your hands. When allowed a moment’s respite, Loki found himself panting.

“Is… Is this how we’re doing this?” He asked, breathlessly. You quirked an eyebrow amusedly.   
"You’re the royal advisor now, Loki. You've got plenty of men under you. I think it's about time you had a woman over you, no?"

Something about that phrase sent Loki’s stomach in knots. Heavens above, you were fantastic. He suspected that he was at risk of letting you do just about anything that you wanted to. Powerless. Vulnerable. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that…

Rather than kiss his lips, you littered a line of kisses from his neck to his navel. Heat followed wherever your lips landed, and the blush that had threatened his face earlier followed yours all the way to his stomach, where pleasure effervesced.

“I think it’s time you got what you deserve,” you purred, hooking your fingers in the hem of his trousers and beginning to shimmy them down.   
“I… I… I don’t know that I deserve _any_ of this.”  
“Loki, was that– are you stammering?”

His only response – to clear his throat anxiously – told you everything you needed to know. Oh, this was _too easy_. The great Loki Laufeyson, bought to his knees by a well-dressed woman and a little assertiveness.

Rolling your eyes, you softly fingered the waist of your dress, pulling it delicately over your head to reveal the lingerie underneath. Loki sat up to press a kiss to your abdomen, and your arms came to rest around his head. You hummed warmly as he pressed a delightfully wet kiss between your breasts.

You promptly decided that enough was enough. He’d had his fun, after all. Now it was your turn. When you worked your hand between his legs, Loki froze. His breathing hastened substantially, and his eyes met yours, trying to determine your intentions. He saw nothing more than another of your sadistic smirks.

You whispered a command into his ear; obediently, Loki shuffled away from you, until his back was against the headboard. Once again, you positioned your knees either side of Loki’s hips. This time, however, you lowered yourself onto his length and felt it slide inside of you with sharp pleasure. One of your hands had found itself amongst the waves of Loki’s hair, the other gripping the headboard tightly.

The first time you rose up, Loki’s hand flew to your waist, stilling you before he was removed from you entirely. With a mirthless smile, you kissed him softly and whispered to him.   
“All good things…”

However, patience was no longer on Loki’s agenda. Desperation had consumed him. His skin practically steamed with heat; his pupils were great pools of ebony; the heart that had stuck in his throat was beating out a samba with excitement. What did you expect? The sight of you sitting in his lap had worked wonder upon him.

Eventually, you gave him what he silently entreated for, lowering yourself back down and feeling his hips rise to meet you. His eyes fluttered shut and his head fell back against the headboard.

In that moment, patience died.

The speed of Loki’s ministrations ran parallel to his yearning. Every movement you made. Every moan, gasp, and grunt brought him closer to the knife’s edge. He was shaking with desire. Wanting. Burning. Craving the taste and touch of you.

You fared no better. A gentle knot in your stomach had formed far too easily for your liking. The previous climax was making a second one dangerously close. Sure enough, Loki’s hand slithered up your abdomen and gripped one of your breasts, holding it tightly enough that he could feel you quiver. You whimpered quietly – and the knot snapped.

Pleasure spilled from between your legs, and the sight left Loki a little breathless. He shut his eyes again and focused on nothing but how you felt, inside and out. He was slipping. Sweat littered your skin like it was bejewelled; the most beautiful of ornaments. His hands palmed at the tender flesh on your hips. It was all too easy for one to slide between your legs, coaxing the last few puddles of pleasure out of you in true expletive fashion.   
“Fuck, darling, you’re so wet,” he sighed, feeling his rhythm return tenfold.

A hand around his throat swiftly brought him back to reality. Electricity sprung from your fingertips, wracking Loki’s nerves with pleasure as your hold on him tightened.  
“What did I tell you?” you growled. Loki struggled to hold back the sounds of his excitement.   
“I… I… I’m sorry, my lady, I…”

Loki’s head was a mess. All cognitive thoughts had been dissolved. The catalyst? You. Your name. Your eyes, smoky and seductive. Your tightly-held hips. Your come in his lap. All of his attention had been stolen out from under him, stolen by the hand that now encircled his throat.

“Hit me,” Loki begged breathlessly. You blinked, and for a second, your grip faltered. Had he just asked you to–?

“Hit me.”

There it was again. He _was_ asking that! Your fingers dug a little deeper into the skin of his throat. Quite whether he enjoyed it wasn’t obvious, but he hadn’t said anything contrariwise.   
“Make… Make me.”

“Please, _my lady_ , please. Hit me.”

It took a moment for you to abandon your reservations. For some reason, it didn’t surprise you in the slightest that he’d enjoy this sort of thing. In fact, it surprised you about as much as it had to discover he enjoyed being dominated.

Leaning in, you lay a fierce kiss upon Loki’s mouth; open, wet, and biting. Teeth tugged at his bottom lip, gently teasing – until your free hand arrived from nowhere and planted pink on the side of his cheek.

It was shortly after catching sight of him that you realised how much you were enjoying yourself. Loki was the epitome of eroticism; his hair lay wildly across his face. His mouth was agape, baring his bottom jaw as heavy breaths heaved from between his lips. There was something… primal in his newly adopted gaze.

After that, Loki was relentless. His arousal was at breaking point. He needed the release. A soft growl escaped him as he finally flipped you and pinned you against the headboard. His thrusts grew in passion, depth, and ferocity. Loki fucked you without reserve. Your lower back was smacked against wood more than once, worsening the pleasure he pumped you full of.

The only way you could think to cope was to pull him closer; forever needing him closer even with his flesh against yours. Loki’s chest pressed against yours. Your left hand pulled at his hair, whilst the other clawed at his back. All the work was left to his hips, which snaked back and forth with delightful speed and ease.

A few minutes of gasping, moaning, and swearing later and finally Loki was granted sweet release. The headboard creaked as you were pressed further into it; the full extent of Loki’s length was within you, quivering as he came hard and fast.

His lips grazed over the shell of your ear, slowly working their way down the length of your neck until he was nibbling at your collarbone.

“That was…” He chuckled lowly. “Well, I wasn’t expecting that.”  
“It seems we’ve both surprised each other this evening.”  
“Mm, yes. Pleasantly though, I hope.”  
“I suppose.”

Loki allowed you to remove yourself from the headboard of his bed, helping you undress before pulling you under the sheets with him. Clothes were discarded upon the floor like forgotten dreams, a chore to be dealt with by future versions of yourselves. For now, the only thing on your mind was the warmth of your lover lying beside you.

“I daresay that necklace has never looked better,” Loki yawned when he caught you toying with the band around your neck.   
“Yes, of course, the necklace is what you were thinking about all that time.”  
“Perhaps I was! It’s a very beautiful necklace, after all.”  
“Oh, just…” You laughed lightly. “Go to sleep, stupid.”

“If you insist, _my lady_.”


	54. Chapter 54

There was a certain smugness that arose in Loki’s features as the coin purse on his hip jingled.

His newly increased allowance was a burden worth bearing; the plethora of products available to him as he perused the market stalls in the early morning sunlight were all the more appealing knowing that they were simultaneously affordable.

Any other time, Loki would never have shopped for himself. In hindsight, he probably could’ve requested that Gertha complete this task, but it was special. He wanted it to be special. Personal. Romantic. No, this was something that he ought to do himself – that he _wanted_ to do himself. This was for you.

His mind was set adrift like a boat on a lake, reminiscing amongst the waters of his memories, and all the times you’d brought him gifts or care packages. It seemed only fitting that he should now have the funds to repay you in kind.

The butcher yawned loudly, scratching his bald head as he stood up to greet his customer. His posture immediately straightened upon realising their identity.  
“Are these cuts fresh?” Loki asked, pointing with his smallest finger to the rashers of bacon that were displayed on beds of ice. Ribbons of pink sandwiched between white fat tempted him to say the least. The butcher puffed out his chest, proud of his work, his livelihood.  
“Yes, but not the best you can do. These ones here are as fresh as the breath from my lungs, sir, if a little dearer.”  
“Not a problem. I’ll take a silver’s worth, thank you.”

As the butcher packaged the choice meats together, Loki leaned away from the stall to examine what he’d already collated. His hands clung loosely to the handle of the basket in his hand, chosen specifically for its ironic and uncanny resemblance to that which you owned in the Tower.

Within the wicker embrace lay a bouquet of flowers, arranged to his specification. Icy blue petals clustered around bursting yellow chrysanthemums; a colour scheme that was both poignant and pleasing to the eye. A handful of pastries, varying in both flavour and recipe, still warm from the oven; newly-picked tea that surely would burst with fragrance and vigour.

By waking so early, Loki had ensured that the collated produce would be exquisite. Immaculate. Pristine. Of course, it also meant that he’d be home with your gifts before you’d stirred, allowing him the air of surprise he relished so much. Harmless mischief like this was sometimes as enjoyable as his more… anarchic activities, though seldom.

Whilst preoccupied with patting himself on the back, Loki initially failed to realise the company he’d acquired; the company that had been eyeing up the meat stand all morning, though lacked the courage to pursue its rumbling stomach.

Tug.

Loki thought nothing of it at first, assuming that the material of his trouser leg had caught on something as he swapped the weight between his feet. As he waited for the butcher to finish packing, he shook his foot gently to dislodge whatever litter the cloth had procured.

Tug. Tug.

There it was again! More insistent this time, and demanding attention. Loki looked down and was less than taken aback by what he saw.

The dog was short, and fat, and coloured like a well-toasted loaf. A pair of sky-blue eyes looked in Loki’s general direction, though they appeared to point slightly outwards from each other, an equally amusing and endearing trait. A small, rounded tail wagged gleefully from the pup’s backside, sending wave upon wave of wiggles through its entire body. As such, the 4 round paws which were clearly far too big for its body padded softly against the ground; it panted softly, extending Loki the fondest of greetings in the form of his happy, pink tongue.

“A mutt,” Loki grumbled. “How unsurprising.” The butcher turned around, finally having finished packaging, and peered over the stand. His smile was kind, a gentle soul.  
“The little scamp is here every morning. Couldn’t say who he belongs to, but he has a slight penance for red meat.”  
“I’ll bet. And he looks as though his desires have been well-met.”  
“Well, what can I say?” The butcher chuckled, scratching the back of his neck bashfully. “I’m a sucker for the happy little fellow.”

Turning around, he pulled a string of sausages down and sliced one off, before handing it to Loki.  
“Give him that one on me, sir. He’ll thank you for it, and I’ll thank you for not being the only one responsible for feeding him.”

Rolling his eyes, Loki bent down and extended the end of the sausage to the dog. Obediently, it planted its bottom firmly on the ground, staring at the meat intently as a shoelace of slobber hung from its jowls.  
“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” Loki chuckled lowly to the animal, before allowing him to eat.

As soon as he’d completed his good deed for the day, Loki waved to the butcher and went on his way. He surpassed the jeweller’s stand, eyeing up an attractive silver pocket watch that ticked pleasantly. The clasp bore a pattern of interlocking circles, lines, and spots. He studied it for a moment, before moving on again. Or rather, before _attempting_ to move on again.

Loki lifted his foot to step forward, but found his gait stunted but something that tugged on the material of his trousers. There were no prizes for guessing the culprit this time.  
“Shoo, beast,” Loki spat at the dog, who looked up at him with infantile ignorance. Rolling his eyes, Loki used the toe of his boot to softly push the dog back a few inches. It’s seated bottom gathered dirt as he did so.

The dog opened its mouth and let a healthy pink tongue loll out. A small cloud of steam erupted into the crisp morning air from his jowls. Loki backed away slowly, keeping his gaze upon the pup to avoid being followed. He was finally able to turn a corner and flee without pursuit. Attempting to escape the attention of an animal with a fraction of his own IQ was not how he’d anticipated this morning going.

* * *

 

Eventually, he made it back to the palace, a full basket weighing heavy on arms that were not accustomed to carrying his own things. As Loki approached the main gates of the palace, he noticed one of the guards perform a double-take, before growing an incredulous smile. At first, Loki couldn’t think what might have drawn his gaze – until it occurred to him that the bounty of gifts he’d collated stuck out from the top of the basket. Jealousy, no doubt. After all, who could blame them? Loki felt his chin rise a little higher; he mentally patted himself on the back for being such a devoted and attentive lover. How soon would word spread of the way he spoiled you? He wondered.

After surpassing the palace guards (who promptly began to whisper to one another), Loki approached his quarters, praying that the shuffling of feet he heard within were not your own.

Gertha pushed the dust cloth along the mantelpiece, collecting what little dirt lurked there. She turned her head swiftly when she heard the quiet creak of the door handle, making a mental note to retrieve lubricant for it later.  
“Good morning, my lord,” she said, bowing her head politely. Loki paused, leaving the door ajar, and bowed his head in return.

“I didn’t realise you had left so early this morning,” she muttered, finishing the dusting and patting her hands on her apron.  
“That was the idea,” he replied, gesturing with his hands to keep the volume low. After all, the last thing he needed was for you to wake up when he’d gone to such lengths to make this a surprise.

Loki leant on the open doorway as he began to toe off his boots. Gertha watched him do so – a little irritated by the dirt he would undoubtedly tread into the newly cleaned floor. However, with her eyes downcast, she spotted something equally alarming.  
“Uh, my lord-”  
“Must we address each other by titles? Would you prefer that I refer to you only as ‘maid’, Gertha? I think not.”

Gertha’s mouth clamped promptly shut. Loki stepped further inside, and pushed the door shut behind him. Was he unaware? She wondered. Surely not.  
“What… What did you say you’d left early for, sir?” Loki rolled his eyes. ‘Sir’ was better than ‘my lord’, at least.  
“I had to pick up a couple of things,” he said hushedly. “I intend to surprise the good lady with gifts.”  
“I see. And you found everything you wanted?”  
“Oh, yes, and then some. I think she’ll be rather impressed, don’t you?”

Impressed isn’t the word Gertha would have used. As Loki and his gifts surpassed her, she said nothing, trying to find the best way to phrase her question.  
“Sir, I really must interject-”

But it was too late. Loki had pushed open the bedroom door. Upon hearing her words, he turned sharply, pressing a stern finger to his lips. Had she forgotten that this was supposed to be a surprise? The door remained wide for the duration of his incredulous glare. Eventually, he proceeded indoors, clicking the door shut behind him.

With a curt sigh, Gertha bowed her head and elected to think nothing more on the matter. It _must_ have been intentional. After all, he’d held the door open! Gertha began to whistle – a soft, pleasant lullaby from her childhood. She tucked her hands into her apron pockets, picked up her dustcloth, and left the main room.

* * *

 

Loki held your face tenderly, his palms grazing your cheeks and his slender fingers reaching back through your hair where they dusted the back of your neck. He closed his eyes and leaned in for a kiss. You braced yourself for the sensation, holding your breath as goose bumps prickled on your arms, and the hair on your skin stood to attention. He brushed his lips over your own lightly, not kissing you but teasing, making you want it.

You smiled, bit your lip, and sighed with ecstasy. This felt familiar… You’d had this dream before. Desire made your body lean, reaching out for his touch. He moved his lips east, pressing a drawn-out kiss onto your cheek and letting his mouth linger over your skin. One of his hands moved from your neck down to your hip, gripping it sharply and pulling you into him. He tilted your head and placed his lips to the shell of your ear. What was he going to do?

Sensing your excitement, Loki’s mouth stretched into a wicked, filthy grin. He chuckled lowly into your ear and your knees went weak. His voice was thick and guttural, dripping with intent. Your heart suffered palpitations when he laughed again, this time quietly, letting his whispered breath cause you to shiver. He drew breath for a second time, preparing to speak, and you waited on his next words with baited breath.

“Good morning, love,” came a genteel voice as real lips left your own. The cool kiss of ‘good morning’ juxtaposed the warm sunbeams on your cheeks that also greeted you. Was this paradise? Illusion bled slowly into reality, revealing a pair of glittering eyes that watched you awaken from behind long eyelashes.

“Good morning,” you hummed, sitting up on your elbows. You rubbed one of your eyes the ball of your hand. When a spadeful of eye make-up consequently came off, you frowned. Damn. Had you really been so tired after last night as to forget taking it off? Images of the post-party proceedings flashed before your eyes and a little heat rose in your cheeks.

Yes.

Yes, you had.

Pushing those thoughts aside, you touched Loki’s chin and drew him in for another kiss, one that wouldn’t be part of a dream.  
“Where have you been then?” You asked, turning around and propping up a pillow against the headboard. Whilst you busied yourself with sitting upright, Loki pulled his wicker basket onto the bed.  
“I visited the market, with the intention of purchasing a gift or two for you. I think you’ll agree that I’ve outdone myself, even for me.”

You yawned loudly and stretched the knots from your spine as Loki began to unpack his purchases.  
“Let’s see, we’ve got some pastries, fruits, and nuts, and some fresh tea leaves too. I’ll call for Gertha to prepare it all for us. Oh, also a bouquet of flowers, which I really ought to get water for, and finally-”  
“ _A puppy?!”_  
“A pup- wait, _what_?”

Loki paused, frozen in place by fear; fear that if he turned around he’d see exactly what he expected. The inevitable could only be denied for so long. Slowly as a worm, Loki’s head turned. Maybe the slower he moved, the less likely it would be that the mangy little mongrel from the market _wouldn’t_ have its paws on the edge of his basket, attempting to get its head further in, no doubt to make off with the meats he’d purchased.  
“Why you little-”  
“Oh, look at him!” You leant forward and swept the dog up into your arms, holding it close to your chest and stroking it’s felt-like ears. Its expression was the picture of surprise. One minute it had been attempting a robbery, the next it was being subjected to hugs and kisses.

“Oh my goodness, she’s just wonderful. Look at her little tail, and her eyes and – oh wait, wait a minute.” You lifted the dog suddenly up and examined its undercarriage. “Look at _his_ eyes. Oh my goodness, I love him.

“I can’t believe you got me a puppy,” you said, turning the creature over, placing him in your lap, and beginning to scratch his stomach with your index finger.  
“I… I didn’t get you a puppy.” Loki scratched the back of his neck.  
“Oh? Is he a little older than a puppy? Just a small dog then.” The ‘small dog’ was kicking all four of its legs, yipping intermittently as you tickled it pink. He growled happily when you leaned down and blew a raspberry into his stomach. Loki scowled. Just like that, a raggedy mutt had stolen all of the attention that was rightfully _his_. It had taken him just under a year to earn this level of affection from you; the hound had earnt it in under a minute.

The smile on your face was palpable, however, and it momentarily gave Loki pause. Only momentarily though. Loki did not want a dog – or at least, not this dog. Despite its appearance, the creature was clever and cunning. Too much so for his liking.

“Actually, love, I didn’t-”  
“The things I will do to you tonight, Loki,” you smirked, grabbing his collar and pulling him in for a fierce kiss. It may have been brief but the heat burnt every syllable from Loki’s tongue. “Though I suspect that was your plan all along, wasn’t it?”

Once released from your embrace, Loki knew already that he was damned. Just the thought, the fantasy, of your threat had changed his tune significantly with regards to the animal.  
“Well, what can I say? I aim to please.” He tugged at his collar and coughed once or twice for good measure, doing his best to hide the blush that had suddenly appeared on his neck.

“I suppose you’d better give it a name if you’re to keep it.”


	55. Chapter 55

Amongst the sounds of hustling and bustling of the marketplace at noon, the harsh panting of your dog as he tugged at his leash was just about audible.  
“Bloody ‘ell,” Brynjolf swore as he attempted to control Nugget. “The little tyke has some tug, don’t he?”  
“To put it mildly,” you laughed.

It was early afternoon in Asgard, and the midday sun beat down upon the well-trodden footpaths. You were just outside the market, perusing the scenery and soaking up the sunshine. Loki was not with you; today was his first day as royal advisor, and he’d left shortly after waking you to attend a council meeting.

“Here look,” you continued, stepping in front of Bryn to adjust his technique. “Two hands; use this one to hold the end of the leash, then hold it a bit further down with the other. Stretch it across your body – like that, that’s it. Now, if he pulls too hard, stop walking. He needs to learn that you’re in control.”

Brynjolf raised his right eyebrow. You shrugged.  
“I did some reading.”  
“Between getting the pup, and walking ‘im?”  
“I’m a quick reader.”

“Can you not simply pick him up and carry him?” Fenrien asked. He was by your side, hand-in-hand with a daydreaming Jarle. “He’s small enough.” _  
_ “That’ll make him aggressive. He’ll get the impression that he will be swept out of harm’s way no matter what; he’ll start picking fights with bigger animals. And I think we’ve got enough temperamental members of the family, don’t you?”

Brynjolf chuckled, until somebody appeared beside you and his face fell.  
“Good afternoon. Who are we discussing?” a charming voice suddenly purred in your ear. You practically jumped out of your skin, until a pair of hands landed upon your hips to hold you in place. Fenrien hid his smile with the back of his hand.  
“Don’t, uh, don’t worry about it.”

Spinning around, you took Loki’s face into your hands and planted a small kiss upon his lips.  
“How was the meeting?” With a smirk, Loki let you have your little secret, pretending that he’d not heard anything.  
“Company was poor, the choice of drinks was lacking, and frankly the conversation was somewhat dry.”  
“But otherwise a fantastic morning.”  
“Oh, absolutely,” he snickered, snaking an arm around your waist and pulling you against him. “However, I now think I’m in dire need of your care and attention.”

You grinned.  
“You’re in luck. Bryn is walking Nugget so I’ve got plenty to give.”  
“I’m sorry, but… Nugget?”  
“Yes; the dog.”

Loki frowned as he looked down at the dog that threatened to strangle itself with how hard it pulled your dwarven friend through the market.  
“You named it Nugget?”  
“Brynjolf and I agreed after we washed him that he looks like something straight out of a gold mine.”

“First Duchess, and now Nugget,” Loki chuckled, folding his arms. “What is with this strange naming scheme you insist upon adopting?”  
“That’s funny,” you replied casually. “You seemed to have no issue with the names I used last night…”

When Loki caught sight of Fenrien’s cocked eyebrow, he cleared his throat loudly and mumbled something incomprehensible.

* * *

 

The two of you walked hand in hand for a time, letting the mid-afternoon sun kiss your shoulders with warmth. Every single cloud had melted out of sight, leaving only a brilliant blue for golden rays to stream past. They seemed to gently push at your cheek, until your head rested on Loki’s shoulder. He turned and kissed your crown.

Nugget seemed not to have noticed the appearance of another person; he was perfectly content attempting to dislocate Brynjolf’s arm.  
“Can ye’ – ow, ow, _ow_ – take yer bleedin’ dog back, lady?”

Chuckling, you severed yourself from Loki’s side and collected the puppy into your arms. He wriggled and writhed, opposed to being removed from the sights and smells of the Asgardian earth. Eventually, however, he relented, slowly succumbing to watching the world pass by underneath him.

Fenrien and Jarle fell into step behind you. The former pulled a face at the animal that watched him, smiling as a long pink tongue lolled out in response. It rose and fell with every steaming breath.

Resisting the urge to tickle the dog’s ear, Fenrien turned his head to look elsewhere and his eyes widened at the sight he then discovered. It hit his heart like an anvil, pushing weight onto his chest and squeezing the breath out of his lungs like they were bellows.

“Impossible,” he whispered, stumbling to a halt. Flashes of familiar faces crossed his vision; images of times formerly forgotten. His lip quivered like the string of a newly fired bow, and water blurred his sight. Jarle stopped when Fenrien did. He turned to face his lover, concern drawing lines upon his brow.  
“Fen?”

Fenrien’s eyes were ghosts of themselves. They stared for miles, and yet honed on the man they’d seen. Jarle grabbed your attention with the touch of your arm and everybody slowly watched as Fenrien stumbled forward, ignorant to the sounds of his name being called.

“E… Elan?” He murmured. “Elandor?” The nearby florist looked up from his stall at the sound of his name. Almost immediately his face fell, mimicking that of Fenrien’s, the latter of whom lit up at making eye-contact.  
“It’s–It’s me. It’s–”  
“Fenrien?”

Elandor blinked away tears of his own, walking around the edge of his stall after momentarily freezing. His hand grazed the edge of the woodwork as he circled it, calloused fingers trembling.  
“Fenrien, is it truly you?”  
“It is, my friend, it is.”

Both men erupted into beautiful, sorrowful laughter as they embraced. You watched the encounter both in awe and bewilderment. Who was this man whose hands threatened to tear apart Fenrien’s shirt with how hard it was being clutched? Fenrien’s head was buried quite deeply into the crook of this man’s shoulder, an action that had not escaped Jarle’s notice.

“We thought you had died,” Elandor said when Fenrien finally came up for air. He held your friend’s face, fingers tangling in blonde. “Died in a cell or on the road, we knew not. There was no word of you from anybody! Where have you been all this time?”  
“Oh, you know,” Fen sniffed, wiping silver tracks from his cheeks, “a little time in prison, a little in a palace. As one does.”

“Oh, how I’ve missed you,” Elan chuckled. The two men embraced once again, clapping hands on each other’s backs like they were applauding, thanking, the fates for instigating their blessed reunion.

Loki rolled his eyes.  
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, would somebody explain just exactly who this man is?”

Eventually, both men seemed to remember that they had company. They turned to face you all, smiling wetly. Fenrien cleared his throat and adjusted his posture.  
“Everybody, this is Elandor, a friend from my home world. We travelled to Asgard together, though I became separated from our group when I was arrested.”

You stepped forward with a gentle smile upon your face. Placing a hand on the back of Elandor’s neck, you pressed a kiss to his cheek.  
“Any friend of Fenrien’s is a friend of ours.”  
“Many thanks, ma’am.”

As memories slowly resurfaced, Loki was smirking to himself; this was the man he’d bought a bouquet from that morning. Had he only known! He introduced himself to Elandor – shaking his hand firmly – with the intention of bragging about such luck. Brynjolf was enquiring for more detail regarding the elves’ journey to Asgard, and from whence they’d come. Fenrien promised that it was not the happiest of tales; though he forbade its telling for the time being, he promised to share it soon.

As everybody else stepped forward to make their introductions, you moved away. Nugget had become suddenly riled up and needed consolation. Whatever he’d spotted over your shoulder had him practically shaking in your arms; you didn’t miss the soft growling that had begun either.  
“Hey, bud, what’s got your tail twisted?” You whispered into his fur, taking yourself away to comfort him. Nothing you said, however, could convince him to silence. You followed his fierce gaze to determine the problem.

“Nugget, what’s the matter with y-”

That was when you saw it.

Saw them.

It seemed that Fenrien’s past wasn’t the only one rearing its head today.  
“That’s… No, no, no, it can’t be,” you murmured to yourself as a shiver set into your bones. How could this be happening? How could they be here? Today, of all days; now, of all times. The world suddenly felt like a nightmare, a living, breathing nightmare. Except there was no way to wake up from the every day.

After Loki had finished regaling the group with how he’d _truly_ been the first to meet Elandor, he stepped away from the gathered crowd. He was met with an empty view. Every sign of you and your dog had disappeared without a trace…

* * *

 

It didn’t take Loki much time to locate you. After all, there were only so many places that you could disappear to in a city you hadn’t long lived in. That being said, his brain hadn’t considered this upon first discovering your absence. He’d quickly employed your friends in a manhunt.

“Love, are you in here?” Loki called, stepping into his quarters and shutting the door behind him. His answer came in the form of a sniff, pronounced but short.

He found you in the corner of the bedroom, sat on the floor with your back against the edge of the mattress. Nugget was in your lap; his ears drooped either side of his head and every so often he’d sniff the tears that fell from your eyes, licking the occasional drop.

“Love…?” Loki spoke softly, confused. Concerned. You turned your head away and rubbed your eyes more than once. It felt like a dagger to his heart; what had happened to turn you away from him so readily?

Without uttering another word, Loki lowered himself next to you. He pulled Nugget off of your lap and disposed of him on the bed behind your heads. Sliding his arm around your shoulders, he pulled you into him. Loki prepared himself; whatever you were dealing with was his problem too now. Whoever had hurt you, whatever had sparked this, would not be an issue after today. He’d make sure of it.

It took barely a moment for the embrace to sink in, and when it did, you began bawling. You collapsed into Loki’s arms, weeping about your family, your home; you reminisced about the life you had before the Tower, before everything melted, fell apart.  
“Is it bad that I miss them? Fuck, I miss it all so much. Why did it have to change? Why did everything have to change?”

It all happened so quickly that Loki found his hands had hesitated before moving to stroke your hair. He blinked a few times and cleared his throat.  
“What’s brought this on, hm? What happened? Why did you disappear?”


	56. Chapter 56

Halvdan grabbed the ankle of his boot and heaved. It sprung from his foot with a soft pop and he groaned loudly, before wiggling his toes freely in the midnight air. Kodran grimaced.   
“Do you have to do that when I’m eating?” He snarled.   
“Maybe if you didn’t do it so slowly, you wouldn’t be eating when I took my shoes off.”

Gunnar rolled his eyes. Here we go again, he thought. The three men had been on the road for a few days now, moving on after their previous job had gone south. Nobody had any clue where the future would take them. Nobody had any clue what to do or where to go. The uncertainty and the travelling had left Gunnar’s two companions a little… volatile. They’d argued more than once in the last couple of hours alone.

“Would both of you knock it off before I cook _you_ on the fire instead of the rabbit?”  
“Oh, hark at mister holier-than-thou,” Halvdan said as he tugged off his other boot. “He does the cooking and suddenly he thinks he’s the resident mother hen.”  
“Bastard.”  
“Motherfucker.”

“Don’t start this again,” Kodran sighed. “That’s not me being a mother hen or whatever. That’s just me making a request; we got enough fucking problems right now that don’t get helped by ripping each other’s throats out.”

Neither Halvdan or Gunnar could argue with their companion’s logic. After sharing a scathing glance, they closed their mouths and sunk a little further into whatever patch of forest floor their arses had occupied.   
“Fucking hell, gents,” Halvdan eventually yawned, stretching and loosening his back. “How did it get like this? We’re living in the woods, arses going numb on old logs, and hopping from place to place to make our next meal. I used to have a wife, you know. A kid! Little boy. Probably in his teens by now.”

“Did you forget the part where your wife left you for your brother cause you couldn’t handle your drinking?” Kodran muttered, kicking the edge of the campfire with his boot.   
“Hey, I handle my drinking just fine,” Halvdan retorted defensively. “I meant, how did we get _here_? We were doing grand in that little village. Sure, the pay wasn’t great, but it was pay.”

Gunnar snorted.   
“I don’t know what you’re reminiscing for. That new woman – what’s her name, Elphina – made it pretty damn clear we’re not welcome there anymore. Couldn’t even get honest work if we wanted to.”  
“Would you want to? That Council they had is all but abolished now; guarantee you that the place will have fallen apart after a week of that old hag’s governance.”

Halvdan fished a wine bottle from the satchel by his feet and popped the cork. After a brief swig, he belched loudly and let it echo amongst the woodlands.   
“If we’d have kidnapped that bitch properly in the first place, like we were supposed to, none of this would’ve happened.”

“True that,” Gunnar chuckled, leaning forward and taking the wine bottle for himself. “My shoulder still smarts from where that broad shot me.”  
“I hear you, but it wasn’t half funny watching you pull that shit out an hour later. Oh my stars, the look on your face.”  
“You think that’s funny,” Kodran interjected suddenly, stealing the bottle for himself and taking a long sip for a dramatic pause. “But I saw her today.”

As he’d hoped, his friends immediately silenced, wide-eyed and waiting for explanation.   
“You… You what?”  
“Yeah! I saw her in the marketplace whilst you two were chatting up the jeweller. Her dog clocked me and she ran like hell.”

Gunnar and Halvdan shared a momentary look of concern. The former swallowed thickly, before clearing his throat.   
“She saw you too?”  
“Yep. By the looks of things, she’s living the high life now. Sod’s law, ain’t it! We get shafted for a job well done, and she gets to bonk his royal highness.”  
“What about her old man? The boss?”  
“Teifren? I don’t know. Got what was coming to him, I suppose.”

Halvdan took his drink back; present company noticed that the glug he took was significantly larger and longer than his last.   
“And, uh… Do think it’ll come to anything?” He asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His arm shook a little.   
“What do you mean?” Kodran chuckled. “Like what?”  
“Well, you said she had friends in high places these days. Don’t suppose they’d try anything, would they?”

Kodran sighed and shook his head at the naiveite of his friends.   
“No, I don’t think anything will come of it.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” answered another voice. It rung everywhere and nowhere at the same time. It echoed amongst the branches and the bark of the forest; it swum through the air like a nighttime breeze. All three men were immediately on their guard, standing with various weaponry bared. The hands that clutched Gunnar’s sword trembled mildly.

“Who goes ther-”  
“You see,” the voice continued, “I happen to know the woman in question.”  
“Who are y-”   
“In fact, we are incredibly well acquainted. She means a great deal to me and I cannot tell you how it pains me to hear you speak of her so slanderously, so callously, and with such venomous discontent.”

“We mean no harm, stranger. We simply wish to-”   
“Oh, I know what you wish,” the voice snarled, dark now and guttural. It shook with a rage unfamiliar to any of the men present. Whoever owned this voice bore a wrath in his words not unlike the growl at the belly of a hunting lion. This man was a warrior of words, and a formidable one. There was seemingly no intention to let them speak but, luckily, fear had stilled all words they might have uttered in their defense.

“Yes, unfortunately, I know what you wished all too well. You wished her harm, all that time ago. You wished to kidnap her; to frighten her; to deliver her to her abuser for further maltreatment. You even conspired to have a little fun with her whilst doing so, had the simple matter of your contract not forbade you from it. Had you been freely able to, you would have wished to violate her in ways that put my cold blood at boiling point. Yes, that’s right, she heard that. She remembers that. She remembers it all. So much so that the very sight of you today sent her into a flurry of panic! Imagine how I felt to discover the woman I love the way I did today – shaking and wheezing in my arms. Victim to a terror I’ve never witnessed in her before, nor in anybody. Her very bones quivered, her heart a cacophonic frenzy of worry and guilt. All because of you and _your_ _wishes_ …”

Nobody in the company said a word. Nobody needed to. It was obvious to all of them that trouble was afoot. They would die tonight. If they could not figure out how to placate this invisible threat, they were dead men walking. Kodran stepped forward, towards the direction from whence the voice seemed to originate.   
“Look, we have money-”  
“ _Did you not hear a word I said?_ ” The voice replied, a mixture of incredulous laughter and indescribable fury. Kodran suddenly dropped his dagger and began to claw and clutch at his throat. “I describe to you in agonising detail the torment I have witnessed you inflict upon my lover, and you think you can _buy me off?_ ”

Kodran’s throat felt like a vice. All breath was trapped in his chest, and no amount of gasping and praying could change that. His two companions watched in horror as his eyeballs began to bulge from his head, fine pink blood vessels piercing the whites of his terrified eyes.    
“Have you no honour?” The voice boomed. “No shame? Have you no remorse for your actions, you heinous villains? Have you-”  
“Please, sir, we mean no more harm, just let Kodran go!” Gunnar finally cried, stepping forward and pleading for his friend’s life.

Well, that did it. The final nail in Kodran’s coffin were the words of an unworthy stranger begging for him to be spared. With a hissing squeak, he collapsed to the ground. Heavy, and dead.

“If you insist upon interrupting me, I shall speak no more. Silence appears to be what you wish, and, fortunately, I need no words to execute my intentions.”

Gunnar was frozen in place at the sight of his friend lying still on the ground. Halvdan was frantically spinning in circles, searching for any sign of an attack. However, the forest was empty of both movement and noise. He gulped back his fears as best as he could. If this strange man was terrifying when talking, he didn’t want to know what happened when the silence fell. In many ways, the silence was worse than the monologue.

When the campfire suddenly extinguished, both men yelped and ran towards one another. Stood back to back, they favoured their chances better with daggers pointing in as many directions as they could cover. Scornful laughter rung out among the trees.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” Halvdan hissed.   
“Oh, really? I thought I might just close them for fun.”  
“Now is _not_ the time, shit-for-brains.”

Loki stepped out of his hiding spot with his hands tucked neatly behind his back. The sudden darkness had spread fear across the ground like it was melting butter on bread. He could practically taste the salt from their sweating brows. Oh, how he’d missed this!   
“Look at you,” he whispered into Gunnar’s ear, stepping neatly back when a dagger was swiped in his direction. “In a life or death situation, and still you cannot keep yourself from bickering.”

Halvdan swiped too but both men failed to land a blow.   
“You’re like wild animals,” Loki chuckled, circling them like a vulture, waiting for its prey to die. “But if you insist upon acting so primitively then I’ll treat you thusly.”

Returning to a safe distance again, Loki leant against a tree and twirled his own dagger between skilled fingers.   
“Whichever one of you kills the other, I will allow to live.”

* * *

 

The promise had of course been a lie. That was Loki’s modus operandi, after all. However, his victims were not to know that, which made the speed with which they’d turned on one another all the more amusing. So quickly they had turned from man to beast when the hope of their mortality was in question…

It had begun as a wrestling match, as the larger of the two men tackled the other. However, the smaller man had quickly elected to go for his opponent’s throat – a brutal tactic that their morbidly-inclined spectator couldn’t help but respect. Ultimately, though, it was the larger gentleman who succeeded, landing a killing blow to the skull of his rival with a nearby rock. A shame really; what a mess he’d made!

“That’s it, then?” Halvdan panted, turning in circles to search for any sign of threat. He would find none. “Are we done here? I can go?”  
“I’m afraid not.” Halvdan groaned loudly as a dagger plunged into his gut from behind. “If I said I was sorry, I’d be lying so… ‘I’m terribly sorry about this’.”

As the life bled from his body in thick, stodgy, alcohol-ridden drops, the bandit collapsed to the ground with a dull thud. It took a few agonising moments for his suffering to end but Loki passed the time with ease, watching the man quake and convulse, praying that every moment of his demise was wrought with pain.

Finally, all three bandits lay dead on the cold forest ground. Smoke of the long-extinguished fire circled and swirled in the air; a nearby woodland bird cooed pleasantly, unaware to the proceedings taking place in its habitat. Loki took as deep a breath as he could, inhaling the stench of fear and chaos that he’d created within the campsite. It was salty and sweet, smoked by the fire and the cooked meat upon it. Everything about the scene in which he stood was intoxicating and enticing. He examined the three bodies at his feet and smiled widely.

Oh yes, he decided with a shivering sigh. It was good to be free again.

* * *

 

Gertha sat on the edge of your bed, dabbing under your eyes with the cloth from her pocket. This handkerchief had served her well for many a year, and it seemed to be doing the trick today too.   
“There, there, miss. Are you feeling a little better?”  
“Much, Gertha, thank you. I’m sorry you had to look after me like this.”  
“Nonsense, ma’am. I do not intend to have children of my own, and the master here never wears his emotions, so all my mollycoddling must be directed your way, unfortunately for you.”

“Nonetheless, you do so much for us and I doubt that taking care of a weepy young woman is in your job description,” you sniffed, sitting up a little in the bed. Loki had enlisted the maid to look after you whilst he ran an errand that evening. You’d protested greatly but neither he nor Gertha would hear of it. You were promptly bought a piping hot cup of tea and put straight to bed by your newly-appointed caretaker, who then sat and kept you company whilst you drank.   
“What I do outside of my job description is _my_ choice,” Gertha scolded you curtly, taking your empty cup from your hands, “and I decided to spend my evening with you.”

Realising you would get nowhere in attempting to apologise, you sighed lightly and smiled. Given how you’d first met, it wouldn’t have been surprising for Gertha dislike you. Had you known how it might offend her, you’d have watched your manners when offering to help. Luckily, however, it appeared that she bore no grudge and was more than happy to build a relationship on a second chance.   
“Thank you, Gertha. For everything you do.”  
“You’re most welcome, ma’am. Now, would you like another drink? I can have Renard fetch more hot water.”

“There’ll be no need for that,” Loki announced as he stepped into the room and pulled off his cloak. You called his name, surprised that he’d returned so promptly and stood up to embrace him. “With your permission, Gertha, we should like to fetch the drinks ourselves. Being a little more hands-on and in control comforts her greatly.”

You smiled abashedly to hear how well Loki knew you; after being permitted to enter the kitchens, the two of you left arm in arm.   
“Are you feeling alright?” He asked, as you walked. “I’m sorry I had to dash off.”  
“I’m better now you’re back. Where did you go?”  
“Nowhere of importance, I promise.”

When you finally reached the kitchens, you realised you were not the only ones there. The cooks and servicepeople had cleared out an hour or two ago, finished with work for the day. As a result, most of your friends had filtered inside in their stead to pilfer and share a bottle of the King’s best wine – including the sovereign himself.

Thor stood up as you entered the room, announcing your entrance with a grand smile.   
“How do you fare, sister-mine?” Thor asked, taking your hand amongst his own goliath paws.   
“Better, thank you.”  
“Then come! Join us for a drink. Lift your spirits.”

Before Loki could follow you to the table where Fenrien, Jarle, and Brynjolf dragged two more stools, he felt his collar be grabeed fiercely. His feet almost gave out from under him.   
“Brother dearest, might I have word?” Thor asked, heaving him aside momentarily, threatening Loki’s balance for a second time. “My hunting party recently returned with tomorrow’s catch and… Well, they mentioned a massacre that they discovered in the eastern leg of the woods. Seems they were bandits, but they’d suddenly and inexplicably turned on one another. Would you know anything about it?”

Loki tapped his chin thoughtfully and looked away for a moment.   
“Can’t say that I have. Would I truly leave my love at a time like this for such things?”

With a frown, Thor plucked the leaf from the tangle that was Loki’s hair and held it afront his nose.   
“Yes, I rather believe that you would,” he said. “Mainly because Renard informed us when she’d been found. Apparently, you’d left her in the company of your maid to go and ‘run an errand’. Honestly, Loki, you must have lost your touch if _I_ can see past your lies.”  
“I’ve simply been out of the game a while,” Loki sneered.   
“You’d better practice then, before I ask you for a second time: _what did you have to do with it_?”

Sighing reluctantly, Loki held up his hands.   
“Believe me when I say that they deserved it. I promise you I will explain more later, no tricks. Just… Just let me have this night with her ignorance.”

Loki escaped his brother’s company, who crushed the leaf in his fist before disposing of it, and joined you at the table where Jarle was pouring two glasses of wine. _  
_ “The happy couple, reunited at last,” Fenrien chuckled as he polished of his own drink and held it out for more.

Conversation flowed easily for a time. Talks of the day’s events and plans for tomorrow saw the night through until soon it was feared that the sun might rise again before anybody had visited their bedrooms. It was Brynjolf who eventually called time on the socialisation, yawning loudly as he stretched and stood up.   
“Wait, don’t go yet,” you pleaded, clutching your glass with sudden trepidation. “I don’t think I could sleep a wink and I’m… I’m so enjoying everybody’s company.” The puppy-dog eyes that Brynjolf encountered melted his heart enough to lower him back down.   
“Alright, lady, one more drink, eh?”

“Best make it count then,” Jarle said, topping off everybody’s glass with the last dregs of alcohol. “A toast?”

Silence quickly befell the room as everybody’s minds raced with thoughts of a toast. Of course, they all had individual things to be thankful for, but nobody could decide on just one. Nothing was universally acceptable. Nothing seemed pertinent – until Loki made a resolute decision and stood, dusting off his clothes for dramatic effect.

“To the Tower,” he said, resting his hand on your shoulder as he lifted his glass. “May it rest in peace.”

And in that moment, everything fell into place. Smiles fell upon faces; lightness fell upon hearts. Everybody present knew they had something to thank the Tower for. Whether it was for teaching them a sorely-needed lesson, saving them from a life of pain, or bringing them to the people who needed them most. It had restored families; created friendships; ignited passions.

Nobody in that room could deny that the Tower was the reason they were all there. Nobody could deny that it had brought them all together.

All glasses were raised a little higher that night, chests puffed a little prouder, chins a little higher, as everybody spoke in joyous unison. It was both the beginning and the end of something wonderful.

“To the Tower!”


	57. SEQUELS AND COMPETITIONS

##  **Calling all fans of The Tower!**

You there - yes, you!

Did you read The Tower? More importantly, did you have a good time reading The Tower? Were you left wanting more when it ended? Well, if you answered ‘yes’ to all those questions, then you’re in luck:  
**I’m going to write a sequel.**

It’s been in production for some time - as many of you know, I like to plan my stories in excruciating detail - so thankfully, I already know roughly where I want it to go. Many of the fan-favourites will be returning: Brynjolf, Jarle and Fenrien, Lady Montilyet, and of course his royal highness and resident pain-in-the-ass, Loki Laufeyson. 

So why make a post about it, you might be wondering. Well, here’s the fun part for all you readers out there. 

### I am running a competition - with prizes. 

In honour of The Tower’s return, I’m asking all fans of the fic to get involved with a little giveaway I’m organising. Something The Tower granted me was a lot of reader contributions, be it fanart or headcanons or just general conversation. 

This competition is based around just that.  _You._  I couldn’t write a reader-insert story with that really, could I?

So, if you’re a  **writer** , an  **artist** , or even a  **musician**  (remember the lullaby from the reader’s music box? I’d love to hear it), then get cracking on something creative related to The Tower. It doesn’t matter if it’s fluff or angst, based on the first story or your hopes for the second; if you’ve got it, I’d love to see it. I’ve had people make paper lanterns in honour of this story - truly, anything and everything is possible. Once your creative creation is complete, you can either post it to Tumblr, using the hashtag #TheTower2Comp and/or tagging me in it, or you can send it through the Discord, using the invite link [https://discord.gg/nFdfPrv](nFdfPrv). 

The competition will end when I’ve settled in to my new job. To clarify: you’ve got until the  **1st of August**  to submit your entries for this one. That’s two months, people. 

In the meantime, I'll be writing some origin stories for heart throbs Brynjolf and Fenrien so keep an eye out. 

I’m looking forward to seeing what you come up with. :) Love to you all!

~LMS


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